Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Red leaves covered the trailer park. It was an unpredictable autumn, the kind that flipped from merely clammy to outright frigid without warning. Right now they were at frigid. Over the course of a single grey morning, a crust of ice had formed on the leaves. In the strip between two trailers was a green pickup. Freezing in the back of the pickup were a boy -- dark -- and a girl, much less dark.

"I won't ever cross over," she told him confidently. "Never."

The boy didn't say anything.

"You did," she said. Her tone was scornful. "And you met him. It serves you right."

The boy did not reply.

"Beanpole," said the girl. "Boring. Dudley do-right."

"It hurts," said the boy, his voice indistinct. "And I'm thirsty. I feel like I'll die.."

"You shouldn't have given in," said the girl. "Now you did, and now you'll suffer."

She seemed almost happy about it. The boy shivered. His skin was so pale that you could see places where the veins were blue-green. The hollows under his eyes were green-black. He was all the colors of the autumn river.

"They're going to have to put me in the water," he said. "Or in the ground."

"Good," she said. "Maybe you won't be so weak, then."

"I want to go over there," the boy said, miserable. "They have milkshakes."

"In this cold?"

"Over there it's summer."

"For you it won't ever be," said the girl. "You tried to cross over. Well, you can't do that. Now you're going to know what you're missing. You're going to know forever, and it'll never get better for you."

The boy hunched down further in the back of the pickup until he was very, very small. The skin on his hands was scabbing. He touched it, wincing. They would put him in the water soon. Or the ground. Better the water, though, he thought. He was made for water. He wanted to be made for water.

-

Much, much later, but still in autumn, the boy, now a man, climbed out of the river. The river was brown-black, icy white in places, and so was he. He emerged more or less dry. You always came out dry. It was later that you became wet, that the wet oozed out of you.

He stood unsteadily on the pier for a few seconds. He could see, indistinctly, the drive-in illuminating the night, and a haze of gas station lights behind that. The river curled around and crossed over Main Street's southwest corner, taking a sharp turn and hugging the edge of the Southside before emptying into Crystal Lake. Here, down the street from the trailer park, was the safest spot to come out.

A white hand came out of the water and touched the boards near his boot. The man reached down to grasp it.

Slowly, he helped a woman out of the river. She was dry, too, when she came out, and she looked around like she was unsure.

"Do we have t--"

"Yes," he said.

"We can just bring him underneath," she said. "To the water. In the damp--"

"Someone has to come out and warn them off," growled the man, as they started along the pier to the water treatment plant. "We can't all just head into the Sweetwater and sleep. Someone has to--"

"He won't have to be that someone."

"He will if we do this the normal way. What's a man for otherwise?" snapped the man. "Christ."

When he was angry it made him electric and unpleasant, like an eel. The woman looked up at him, blinking back tears a little. He was a handsome man, but she couldn't see the handsomeness just then. And he was moving too fast. She had to struggle to keep up, her hand on her belly. He was several feet in front of her when they reached the trailer park, and then he slowed, like he was realizing for the first time how he was behaving.

She had to keep stopping, swaying a little to deal with the contractions. He wasn't waiting for her when she stopped.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning back to her shamefacedly. "Come on, honey."

He picked her up, gallant, careful with her small frame and her big belly. Ice crunched beneath his boots as he walked into the park. Lights twinkled from some of the trailers, but he stayed away from those, like he didn't want to be seen.

He was singing something low when he banged them into a trailer. He put the woman on a tattered couch and went to rummage around. The woman pulled herself up on her elbows and looked after him, worried.

"Just this one," she said.

There was ice in her voice, but the man didn't hear it.

"We planning on more than one, honey?" he said. "Because I didn't plan on anything so crazy as even the one, believe me. Glad to do the right thing by you, but let's call this what it is, Gladiola."

The woman sighed. She was younger than the man, almost a girl, really. When he'd been sitting in the blue pickup, she'd been sitting in a bassinet. Now another contraction hit its peak, and she breathed through it.

"The second one," she said, when it had passed. "That one's mine. Even if you ruin this one."

But he was back in the bedroom, looking for something. So he didn't hear. He did find the something -- a gnarled basket, salvaged from the back of the closet. He piled it with blankets. He found a dirty scrap of paper in the bureau and a pen that was almost out of ink. He forced the last of the ink out in order to write something out on the paper, then pinned the paper to the basket. Then he took the basket and and went to help the woman up from the couch.

"Gotta be careful by Fox Forest," he said.

"The second one we don't do this with. Don't experiment."

"Second," said the man, leading the way back out into the snow. "See this basket? Not this basket. This one--" he pointed a finger at himself. "You are putting a lot of eggs into this basket. Now be careful by the forest. Lotta dirt ground there, bare and such. Used to be the potters' field. Did you know that?"

"I'm more worried about the tracks," said the woman.

Nothing came out of the forest, but at the tracks huge lights came, followed by a click-clack and a shrill whistle. The man held the woman back -- unnecessarily, since she had not been planning on throwing herself in front of the train. The man blinked at the train with distaste. The woman just worried the leather lapels on his shoulders.

"What if I don't have him quickly enough? What if my time's too short over there, on the other side?"

"Won't matter," said the man.

She dug her hands into the leather. Discomfort was spreading through her again, coming quicker now. "It does matter. When they see you -- what if mine tries to touch me--"

The train finally passed. The man picked her up and carried her over the tracks.

"There's a place. A place it doesn't matter much. They put a sign up: everybody's welcome. You know they gotta follow their own rules once they write them down."

"Is this magic place a doctor's office?"

He winced.

"Close," he said. "Doctoring the soul."

"A bar," the woman said, sounding disgusted.

"Jesus. Am I that predictable? No, honey, not a bar. I'm always thirsty, alright, but there's something else you can drink here."

The neon sign winked at him. He drank it in. He was always thirsty; he wasn't lying about that. He ushered her in before she could see the small print on the door.

EVERYONE WELCOME TO POP'S CHOCK'LIT SHOPPE
all Riverdale residents

Were they Riverdale residents? Unclear. The man laid the woman on the table farthest from the door. No one noticed them come in, though the place was packed. It was riotous with chrome and color, spinning red barstools, shiny laminated menus, jukebox music. In the curious reddish light the man and woman looked dark and strange. He helped her out of her leather jacket, helped free her from her jeans. No one noticed. In the booth next to them four teenagers were singing: Who put the bop in the bop-shoo-bop-shoo-bop--

The woman felt now how the contractions were getting worse. But they weren't too bad yet. She could still take this place in.

Music. Laughter. White-aproned girls with sunny smiles handing out food. The woman's hands curled on the edge of the table. The man pulled off his own jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Then, almost as an afterthought, he chucked the whole shirt. It was hotter here than it was on his side of town.

"I'd kill for one of those milkshakes," he said. "You think they got one that tastes the way this place looks?"

"Alive?" she said. She didn't know why she said that. She was alive. But she felt fish-pale and ugly here. She hated herself. She hated him, for bringing her here. But she found that she loved everything else. The tall whip-cream bedecked glasses, the smell of coffee, the shiny mirroring on the side walls.

"Bright," the man said. "Warm."

It was day here. The woman and the man, dark and indecent, practically half-naked now out of necessity or comfort, seemed at war with the place. But still no one noticed them. He helped her pull off her underwear. No one in Pop's Chock-lit Shoppe said anything.

Her water broke when a teenager in a blue and gold jacket switched the song to Lonely, I'm Mr. Lonely--

She blinked back tears. Suddenly she did not want to be having a baby, much less an experimental one. She didn't know what she wanted, except to not be herself. She was terrified that her time would be too short. Some people could stay here for a long time, supposedly. The man bragged that once he'd come and stayed a whole day, before the Northsiders saw him.

But you might get just an hour here before your protection wore off. Maybe less. She hoped she got enough time, at least, to have the baby. Then there a pain so sharp it cut off this thought, a pain that shouted so loud it drowned out everything but her breathing.

The man was no midwife, but he'd learned what he could from people who he thought were something like it, and so he tried to help her through this. To see him like this, coaxing and caressing, trying to be good, was really to see something. He was nothing like an eel. He wasn't even like the snake he had stretched over one pectoral. He was just a person, for once. And for the most part he thought of her, and how to make her comfortable, and how to be a help.

Briefly, though, he thought of his own birth. Must have been as slippery as this, as messy as this. On the Southside, by the water. While here on the North, in a cool, clean doctor's office or hospital room, his opposite was born. Mr. Beanpole. Dudley Do-Right.

And if you gave in, and touched them--

The man shuddered.

No one heard the woman's screams but him, but she did begin to scream once her labor pains began. But then the sunny day had melted into a delightful twilight. The Chock'lit Shoppe crowd had thinned, but there was another small burst of visitors nearer the end of the delivery, a dinner crowd. The dinner crowd didn't notice a thing.

The woman screamed, and her screams battled the jukebox.

They said that he came from the wrong side of town--

I fought the law, and the law won--

Each night I ask, the stars up above, why must I be a teenager in love--

The baby was born midway through that last one, after all the dinner crowd had gone. The man cursed. He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket to cut the umbilical cord, then flipped the blade closed and tried to understand what to do with the living thing in his arms. He'd thrown the basket into a corner of the booth and now he retrieved it with one arm. The woman was sobbing, almost relieved. But she still had the afterbirth to go.

"Easy, honey," said the man. The baby was screaming. It didn't occur to him that anyone could hear the screams, although it should have. He settled the baby in the basket, wrapping it up. It was filthy still, but alive. The man didn't want to stop looking at it, but he had to. His wife needed him. He was used to blood, but this was too much blood, too much mess. He'd thought he'd be prepared for this, and it seemed he hardly was.

While he turned his attention back to her, Pop Tate, who'd been mopping the floor nearby and had been startled by the baby's screams, came over to investigate.

To Pop, the booth was empty. He only saw a dirty basket on the vinyl seat, and in the basket an even dirtier baby. There was a dingy scrap of paper pinned to the basket that had a name.

"Big name for you," was all Pop managed to say, once he stopped being astonished. He hadn't seen anyone come in and bring the baby.

"The third?" Pop said. "What happened to the first and second? Why aren't they with you, huh?"

And then he picked it up.

The man and the woman -- bedraggled, half-naked, with hollowed eyes -- had to watch him do it.

"Hey, maybe it worked," said the man. He looked dumbfounded.

The woman was sobbing. She was glad it was nearly over, but a stubborn part of her mind told her she shouldn't be glad.

"I hate you," she told the baby's father suddenly. "I hate you."

"Who brought you?" Pop asked the baby. "Who brought you in?"

He walked away with it.

That was the only baby born that night. That was unusual. Usually when a Southside one was born on the South, a Northside one was born on the North. But this one had broken the rules.

Pop cleaned it and called the police station. It stopped screaming and became a very quiet baby once it was clean. Pop took a liking to it. He was sad when he had to hand it over to the sheriff. It was a nice little thing, he thought. Pale and sort of wilted-looking, but then it looked like a very young baby. Even with that was a sweet thing, and to have abandoned it did not seem the Riverdale way.

Not even with the strange trick about the child. The Sheriff held up under the light to get a good look at it -- weren't many families in town, he explained, and maybe the boy would have a resemblance to somebody -- and the baby did not cast a shadow.

In the morning, Pop discovered the mess in the booth where he'd found the boy, and put about half of the story together. But by then the man and woman had gone.

Chapter Text

Jughead Jones was odd.

There was the shadow thing. There was how, sometimes, it was hard to remember that he was even there. And there was the fact that, even though Riverdale never had anything but perfectly nice warm weather, Jughead was usually cold, so cold his hands would get unpleasantly clammy.

His real name wasn't Jughead. It was a lot longer than that. It implied that he was the third Jones of his kind, but everyone in Riverdale took that for a lie. Aside from Jughead, Riverdale had no Joneses of any kind. Very hasty arrangements had been made when Jughead was found. The sheriff had woken a very irate mayor. Town Hall had called a meeting.

It had seemed to Riverdale that a crime had been committed because people did not just leave babies in diners, but somebody had done just that. Someone had behaved with reckless and criminal irresponsibility and then gone off and vanished, without even the decency to submit themselves to the town hall meeting, where many people were busy speculating about young Jughead's origins. Even more people were proposing cruel laws the town ought to pass in order to punish the people who had perpetrated the child on them.

"Does he come from, you know--" said one woman. "--across the--"

"Mary Andrews, for god's sake. Fairy tales aren't going to get us through this," said another woman, in a clipped voice, and most of the town agreed with her.

They agreed even harder after she published an article about it.

SINFUL MOTHER SPRINGS UNWANTED CHILD ON TOWN

The town took Jughead's birth hard. No one in Riverdale was supposed to go around abandoning children. Mary's husband shook his head for almost ten whole minutes after the town hall meeting, thinking of the little thing in the basket, a paler, unhealthier version of the one he and Mary wisely kept in a bassinet upstairs.

"I thought I knew this town," he said.

"They'll catch who did it, Fred," Mary told him comfortingly.

That was what saved the situation for the townsfolk. They would catch who did it, the secret miscreant among them. In the meantime, they gave the baby that was Jughead Jones over to the hospital. Then days turned into weeks. The hospital had a quiet meeting with Town Hall, and he was given over to the Sisters. The Sisters held onto him with sisterly patience for perhaps more time than he deserved, until it began to occur to them that someday he might show serious and irreversible signs of the male sex. Then they passed him back to Town Hall, where the Mayor suggested that maybe, just maybe, he should get a job at the movie theater or something, she would ask around, she was very sure that the movie theater had a little spare room he could work for, and he'd like that, wouldn't he, Jughead?

They called him Jughead because, when he was about four, Pop Tate had realized that no one had ever given this boy any kind of birthday present and had given him a hat. Jughead wore it through every kind of weather. What was to say, through all varieties of Riverdale sunshine.

He didn't wear it because it shielded him from the sun. It was a knit beanie, and completely inappropriate for the sun. Being slightly inappropriate was Jughead's whole thing, from birth to present.

He adjusted his beanie now, almost nervously. The Mayor watched him do it with unease of her own.

"You'd like to work at the Bijou, wouldn't you?" she said again.

She wasn't really looking for a yes or a no. She had organized a summertime concert (the town had monthly summertime concerts) and was eager to be off for it. She held no special dislike for Jughead, but when it was time for a concert or a dance or a maple-tasting event, Jughead always seemed to crop up as something that needed to be dealt with, because he required yearly shots or school enrollment papers or a home or something.

Jughead shrugged his thin shoulders.

"Can I work?" he said. "I think I'm only ten."

The Mayor regarded him with the look she reserved expressly for people who went around saying facts they should not say. Most Riverdalians were not like that, but Jughead was, even though he was ten, and she was starting to worry he would never grow out of it.

"Well, of course you can--"

"So there's no laws against it?" Jughead said.

"What else would you do with your time?" the Mayor demanded, exasperated.

"School," Jughead pointed out.

The Mayor's lips thinned. She felt backed into a corner. She would have to allow that. Technically, Jughead was her daughter's age. Actually, she thought they were in the same class. Riverdale was not a large town. All the children who were of an age were inevitably in the same class.

"Well, but we need somewhere to put you," the Mayor said, after a few minutes, for lack of anything else to say.

Jughead's mouth quirked strangely, like he knew something funny but maybe also something enraging. He looked at the floor. He was a skinny, pale thing, and he always gave the Mayor the impression that he might vanish. But then he never actually did that when it would be helpful. The Mayor massaged her temples.

"I should be at school now," Jughead said.

"Yes!" said the Mayor. "Go!"

She made shooing motions. Jughead scrambled out of his chair. He was all flying limbs and undone shoelaces as he raced out of her office. He knew and she knew that there would have to be a place for him somewhere -- this was Riverdale, the Town With Pep, and so problems like Jughead always were eventually solved -- but until then he would have to be put up at the hotel or something, and of course he was ten so that could not be a permanent solution.

There seemed to be no permanent solution to Jughead Jones. He just didn't have a place. Everyone in Riverdale had a place, but not him. Everyone in Riverdale had a shadow, but not him. Everyone in Riverdale took wonderfully to the summer climate, but not him.

So he bounced from place to place. And he had developed a trick of standing wherever it would be hardest for people to notice the shadow thing, always closest to buildings or to his friend, Archie Andrews, whose shadow dwarfed the both of them. And day in, day out, he wisely layered and kept his knit hat on, so he wouldn't feel too cold.

This seemed to solve the more obvious bits of strangeness. But not all. He was late to school, so Mr. Feebly dutifully gave him a demerit. Almost everyone in the classroom made oooh sounds about it. Jughead was always getting demerits for things. Everyone else seemed impervious to demerits, but Jughead couldn't help but acquire them, collector-like.

"Detention if you get more," Mr. Feebly told him, not unkindly. "Now, to your seat."

Jughead went to his seat, wondering how he would get more demerits. He would get them. Riverdale just seemed to work that way. If he got detention then at least that meant people had found a place to put him for a few hours.

Archie Andrews turned to look at him as he sat. Archie was a ruddy, healthy boy, promising, with the kind of large brown eyes that always seemed to be brimming with whatever emotions mothers or girls or authority figures most wanted to see in them. They worked the opposite way for Jughead. Now Jughead detected dogged concern in them, and he wished he didn't.

"Archie, turn your searchlight gaze away," he said, under his breath.

He liked that phrase: your searchlight gaze. He'd heard it in a movie at the Bijou. Jughead liked movies and he liked books. He ranked them among his best friends. His friends were, as follows: movies, books, Archie.

"Did the Mayor say what they were going to do with you?" Archie demanded.

Mr. Feebly was droning on about long division.

"It hasn't been decided," Jughead said. "Let's talk after class."

"They have to make a decision!" Archie said. "Juggie, they have to find a place for you to go--"

"I know," Jughead whispered. "Let's talk after class."

"It's not fair the way they treat you--"

"I know--"

"Demerit, Jughead Jones," said Mr. Feebly. "Now you have detention."

Ooohs from everyone.

Archie bristled. He looked close to jumping out of his seat and defending Jughead. Several times he'd done exactly that and every single time it had ended terribly. Jughead reached across to his desk and put a warning hand on his arm.

"Hands to yourself, Jughead Jones. Now that's two detentions, today and tomorrow."

Ooohs again. Archie stood. Jughead stood too, and pushed him back into his chair. No one reacted like this was unusual, but Mr. Feebly did announce a third detention for Jughead.

"Let's just ask Betty how to solve -- how to solve me -- during lunch, okay?" Jughead said, as though Mr. Feebly hadn't spoken.

Archie's searchlight gaze found a high blonde ponytail at the front of the room, attached to a girl who was studiously doing long division. He nodded, once, and was able to stay in his seat with grim heroism for the rest of the period.

Betty's name was the magic word. For both of them.

She was, simply put, the nicest girl in Riverdale. In a town full of well-behaved, well-dressed, well-brought-up children, Betty was widely known as a child who particularly excelled on all three counts. As far as Jughead was concerned, she was the Riverdalian who was most like walking sunshine -- bright, intelligent, and fair down to her bones. He'd known for years that if anyone could solve him, it ought to be Betty.

But he wouldn't be asking her to. That would be too great a demand. So any time the request bubbled up in his throat, it would just sit there uncomfortably. And Archie always planned to ask her, he knew, but something else always came up.

Today, it was Betty's schedule.

"Oh, Archie, I don't know what to do," she said without preamble, when they joined her at her lunch table. "I have ice skating at the indoor rink and tennis after, then ballet Tuesdays. And I know I said I would come over and help you with the science assignment, but I have to make time for girl scouts--"

"How?" Archie demanded hotly. "Betty, it's not even about the science thing. I can make a hurricane--"

"--volcano," Jughead supplied. Betty's green eyes flicked to him, very briefly, then flicked away. Jughead felt his heart speed up.

"-- but when do you get to just be normal with me and Juggie?" Archie continued. "When do you get to have fun? You're always getting pushed into this stuff."

Riverdale was a town that took special care to provide its youth with educational amusements, and Betty was fortunate enough to have a mother who felt that every possible amusement must be imposed on her. Ice skating, ballet, girl scouts, tennis, lacrosse, volleyball, cello lessons, church choir, field hockey, classes in american sign language, classes in french, classes in etiquette, classes in lifeguard safety, home economics, needlepoint, debate. Betty sighed now, as though she were upset by this, but when she looked up at Archie she seemed far from upset. She seemed cheered, somehow. Archie had that effect on her.

Jughead felt himself doing the thing.

The thing was the worst thing he did. It always started near his elbows, for some reason. Then it radiated along his arms, across his chest, up to his head, down to his toes. Until he couldn't explain how, but he'd just know that if he spoke, no one would hear him, and if he stood up and started hitting himself, no one would see him.

He smacked Archie experimentally. Archie kept talking to an enraptured Betty.

Jughead Jones had vanished again. He could never do it when he wanted to. Never when he was alone with Archie and Archie was being dogged about something, for example, because Archie had a way of pinning him in place in times like that. But when he was with Betty, and particularly when he was with Betty and she was looking at Archie like this, Jughead had a worrying tendency to just -- slide away.

He thought he knew why. It was because, in moments like these, he didn't belong. He was used to not belonging, though. It shouldn't make him feel hollow.

Sighing, he turned to eating off of his lunch tray while he waited for the vanishing to wear off. He hoped it would wear off before the bell rang. If he was invisible in class, he'd get another demerit.

"Oh, Arch, it's your birthday next week," Betty was saying. "Do you want me to plan your party again?"

"Could you?" Archie was saying, guileless about it. "It's nicer when you do it than when my mom does it. Hey, remember when you both gave me a party and I tried to go to both at the same time and I kept mixing up which one I was at?"

Jughead stole an apple from Archie's plate. He knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he was still hungry -- he was always hungry -- and anyway Archie wouldn't notice.

Betty noticed that the apple was gone, though. She silently replaced it with her own. Jughead felt bad after that.

He did not reappear until last period, which meant that he was visible enough for Mr. Feebly to walk him to detention. He sat alone in the classroom with Feebly and tried to care about long division. It would be easier, he thought, if he didn't secretly want to be eating burgers with Archie and Pop Tate instead. He could do the long division; he just didn't want to.

Twenty minutes into his avoidance of it, the fire bell rang. Jughead looked up. So did Mr. Feebly. Mr. Feebly indicated that he should stay put, then got up to investigate.

Half a minute after that, Dilton Doiley pushed the door to the classroom open.

Dilton was, like Jughead, odd. Everyone knew it. But Dilton played by the rules of the town, somehow. Dilton avoided detentions, and never just vanished on people. Dilton had parents who had not abandoned him.

"Hey," Dilton said. "Want to see how to get out of detention? I'll show you my trick if you show me yours."

He was holding a matchbook out. Jughead ignored it.

"I'm not going to tell you how I vanish," Jughead said. "I don't even know."

Though he did wish he could vanish right now. He knew he was a source of fascination for Dilton. He didn't take it personally. Dilton liked strange things.

"You and I aren't so different," Dilton said now. He pushed his glasses up on his nose with a special kind of Dilton intensity. That intensity bothered Jughead. Jughead liked strange things too, or thought he did, but he'd never managed to warm to Dilton.

"I'm not going to bond with you over being freakshows," Jughead said.

"I'm talking about something else, Jones," Dilton said dismissively. "You know my mother's not from here, right? She's from the city. I'm half not-Riverdale. Half not-Riverdale gets you me. Full not-Riverdale gets you you. Comprende?"

Irritation sang through Jughead. This was an old topic with Dilton.

"If you have information about my birth, Town Hall's offered a monetary reward for that for ten years," Jughead said. "Take it up with them."

"I don't have it," Dilton said. "But, unluckily for you, I'm not the only one who wants to have it."

Before Jughead could process what happened next, three more people had barreled into the room and were on him. And he could fight Dilton off, no problem, because Dilton was as small and skinny as he was, but he couldn't fight Reggie Mantle and Jason Blossom and Chuck Clayton. Between the three of them they had him muffled and helpless, trying to flail and getting nothing but hits for it.

They lifted him and had him down the hall, then out of the building. He almost got away when they were by Main Street, but it was four against one, so he didn't succeed. When they tried to get him to walk he went boneless just to annoy them, so Reggie and Chuck hauled up his legs and they just carried him like that. Jason's sweater they tied around his head to gag him.

When they reached the edge of town, they tossed him unceremoniously over the railroad tracks.

"What's it feel like, Jughead?" Reggie asked, as he and the others scrambled back across the tracks and Jughead struggled on the ground, desperate to get the gag off. "Feel like home?"

Chapter Text

They wouldn't let him cross back, that much was clear. When he walked along the tracks, they mirrored his movements on the other side, making sure he stayed on the Southside.

"Are you seeing this?" Dilton said.

The others didn't listen. Chuck and Reggie were jeering. Jason was looking worried.

"Aren't you going to try and go in?" he called out to Jughead.

Jughead did not answer.

"I wanted him to go in," Jason told the others, biting his lip. "I wanted someone to figure out this water thing." Then, catching sight of what Reggie was holding: "I don't think you need a bat."

"Hey, in case he tries to come back and bother nice people," Reggie said, shrugging.

Jughead said nothing. If he walked until he got to Pop's, maybe Pop would come out to the back alley, see this, and help him. That felt like his best bet.

"We should stop," Jason said. "We did it. It was funny. But he's just walking, that's it, so--"

"No way," said Chuck. "We have to make sure he stays over there. That's where he belongs."

"Are you guys seeing this?" Dilton demanded.

Jughead could hear when they stopped walking. He sped up in response.

"Jones!" he heard Dilton yelling after him.

"Jughead!" Jason was shouting. "Jughead, look at what's falling on the track!"

He didn't know why he looked. Jason had gagged him, after all. But it hadn't been a tight gag -- he'd gotten it off. That was how Jason worked. He was among Riverdale's worst (Riverdale's best, if you talked to anybody who wasn't Jughead), but he was kind of a shamefaced participant. He could never commit to anything truly mean. Maybe that was why Jughead trusted him when he said to look.

"Look down," Jason said excitedly. "At the tracks."

Jughead looked down. He saw railroad tracks.

"You have a shadow!" Jason said. "Jughead! It's there!"

Bile rose in Jughead's throat. He did not have a shadow. Even if he'd been a normal person he couldn't have had one. There wasn't enough sun for it. It was practically night already, and fog was rolling in around him, fog and cold.

"Sure I do," he told Jason bitterly. "So does Reggie. His shadow's you."

Reggie looked briefly dumbfounded and Chuck snickered. Jason's pale face went as red as Jason's hair. He snatched the bat from Reggie.

"Fine," he snapped. "Stay over there, then. Dilton, where's your camera? We should maybe show this shadow to the Mayor. It's all the proof we need to show how weird he is--"

But Dilton hadn't brought his camera -- he'd thought Chuck was bringing his. As they bickered, Jughead heard the whistle of the train.

This was his chance. When the train rushed past, he could jump into a run and they wouldn't be able to see him, which might give him enough of a head start to get to Pop's before they did. Admittedly, he was a pretty terrible runner. They would definitely beat him to Pop's if they had him in their line of sight. But if he got a head start, well--

Well, no, then they'd still beat him to Pop's. They were still faster than he was. But he wanted to pretend that he could get away, mostly because the shadow trick had opened up a great fearful pain inside him, one he didn't want to stick around and examine too hard. He took a deep breath. The train came rattling closer.

When it reached him, he fell into a sprint. His mind protested the action almost immediately -- he hated running. And his shoelaces, he realized, were still untied, and that was bad. His chest was burning and for some reason even his limbs and hands hurt, and he couldn't figure out whether to breathe through his mouth or through his nose. Worst of all, the fog and dark was closing in fast, too fast. When the train had passed completely he had to stop and wheeze, hands on his knees, for at least a full minute.

He couldn't hear the others anymore. But he couldn't see Pop's across the track, either. Actually, he couldn't see the track, the fog was that thick and disorienting. People said the Southside was a ghost town, a place spirits roamed. Maybe they just meant this fog. Jughead could hardly tell what direction he'd come in. He tried backtracking tentatively. He backed into a tree.

A tree?

He tried to remember what he knew of the Southside.

Abandoned, like him. Haunted. Dangerous -- because sometimes the sheriff would pull a drifter out of the place and it would turn out the drifter had stolen something, or was illegally carrying a pocket knife. Sometimes people would walk in and never come back. Sometimes people would walk out, which was worse. Those were mad people, the kind of people who could live in a ghost town -- and more often than not they would have to be arrested and put away before they hurt somebody. They always seemed to want to hurt somebody.

But as far as Jughead knew, very few people lived in the mist-shrouded wilderness beyond the tracks. So the danger couldn't be that great. Archie had crossed the track and walked two blocks into the Southside once, on a classic Reggie Mantle dare. He'd come back disappointed, saying it was just a bunch of empty, dilapidated houses, like something out of a creepy video game, and that there was nothing much else to see.

Jughead didn't even see houses. Just forest.

Once, coming back on the bus from a field trip to the city planetarium, he'd heard Archie's father tell Archie a story about this place.

"Long time ago, when they founded this town," Fred had said thoughtfully, "the families that founded it wanted it to be a good place. Prosperous. Happy. With the people in it treating each other right. And it is, son. It is. Because they marked a place where the ground met the water, and they said, 'This is where the evil will go.' You have a bad thought? It goes there. You get hurt? It goes there.'"

Archie had been quietly snuffling off to sleep. He had tumbled off of a raised display on Neptune's atmosphere and fallen onto Jughead. He had not been hurt. Jughead had been left with a cracked wrist. No one on the bus had really believed it was really a cracked wrist, though. Hardly anyone in Riverdale went around cracking their wrists -- just Jughead Jones.

"And they took all the evil in themselves," Fred had continued, "and they buried it in the ground there, and that's where it's stayed. And that's why we're safe in Riverdale, son. Because the bad -- that we put out by the Southside. So if it looks scary, don't you mind it. It's just holding our bad for us, Archie. It's holding your bad for you, so you don't have to suffer with it."

Fred wasn't the only person who said stuff like that. But Jughead, who'd spent most of his life avoiding the Southside because people said he might be from there, had always quietly wished that maybe, just maybe, the Southside would be the way Archie described it. Boring. Empty. No real evil in it, no threat. Just a lot of quiet, watchful nothing.

He slid down the tree, still trying to gather his breath. He found himself sitting in a pile of golden-brown leaves. It was cold here, colder than on the Northside. He knew that. But for once he didn't feel cold. On the North, he was often so cold he needed a jacket. Here, he was warm enough that a jacket would do, even though a stiff, frigid breeze shook more leaves from the trees.

Jughead watched them float down.

He was experiencing an autumn. That was another thing Fred said, Betty's parents said. In other places, you got an autumn, a slow dying of everything. Riverdale never got that. They had banished it to where the ground met the water.

The fog was thinning, and the forest was dreamy, quiet, and dead. Jughead sat in the leaves and wished he had one of the computers at school, or even just his pencil and notebook.

"In the darkness on the edge of town," he tried, addressing the trees, "they put their evil deep, deep inside the ground, and expected that it wouldn't ever rise again."

Something rustled the leaves. A squirrel, maybe.

"It always rises," Jughead decided, with satisfaction. "Evil can't be buried--"

He thought of zombies rising at the Bijou, ragged hands clawing the ground--

"--it always finds a way. It lurks like mist, waiting to invade the sunshine--"

Something touched him. Something cold and dry, curling white fingers around his ankle. Jughead screamed, shoved it off, scrambled up against the tree. For a moment he thought his mind was recreating Tombs of the Blind Dead, with caverns overrun by eyeless zombie knights. But the hands that sprouted up from the ground were whole, streaked only by a bit of dirt. Black fingerless gloves, leather sleeves studded with metal. Jughead gaped.

Men were climbing out of the ground. Mostly young ones, decidedly living ones. The forest was alive with them, with their half-open shirts and slick, pale white bodies, with their sharp smiles and the skulls painted onto their jackets. Jughead backed against another tree and found it carved with skulls.

GHOULIE TERRITORY,
someone had painted onto the tree.

The one that had grabbed his ankle looked at him. He was shaking the dirt off of his black velvet pants.

"You're new," he said. "Some kind of Northsider. And I touched you. But you know the Ghoulie motto. That touch is gonna be bad for you, baby."

He licked his lips. His teeth winked, plated with gold. The other men were straightening, their eyes swiveling to Jughead, every eye a black hole, like a skull's. It was makeup, Jughead realized. It was fake, like in the movies. But they'd come out of the ground.

"How long have you been here?" said the one that had grabbed him. "You can see us, so you must have been trespassing on our territory a while. Must have used up an hour or two on our turf, acting like it's yours--"

Jughead shook his head mutely. His chest hurt worse than when he'd been running. He could no longer tell how long he had been on the Southside. These men had climbed out of the dirt and now they were slowly walking towards him, grinning. Their teeth cut jagged lines of reality into the misty fog.

Jughead turned and ran again.

With whoops and shouts, they were after him. His stomach felt tight and painful, his chest burning, so he could barely make out their chant:

G H O U L I E S,
G H O U L I E S,
THIS TOWN'S OUR ONLY HAUNT.
YOUR HOUSES ARE OUR HEADSTONES,
SO WE'LL KILL YOU IF WE WANT.

They caught up to him easily, earthy-smelling hands grabbing at his jacket. One lifted him off the ground. For the second time that day he was overpowered, and this time he missed Jason, Reggie, Chuck, and Dilton. He would rather be back across the tracks with them, being punched, than here with these metal stud zombies that laughed amongst themselves as they ground his face into the dirt.

"How deep, Ghoulihand?"

"Six feet under, boys."

"What'll sprout from him, Ghoulihand?"

"Evil, boys. Pain, boys. Some house on the North missing its son. Where'd he go? Where'd our little baby go?"

Hoots and jeers, worse than any Northside classroom could offer. Jughead felt like the cold was finally getting him, spreading into him wherever the Ghoulies held him down. He could hear a shovel hitting the ground, again and again. Dirt was tossed near his head. They were going to bury him. They were going to bury him because they thought he had a family that might miss him, and he didn't, and either way he did not want to be buried.

A whistle cut through the jeers.

Ghoulihand, the one that had grabbed Jughead, swore.

"Water worms," he said. "Fuck. Kill 'em boys."

"Eels!" said another Ghoulie. "Kill 'em!"

"Snakes! Kill 'em!"

"Messing in our business! Our catches!"

Jughead could hear the sound of revving bikes. The Ghoulie holding him down pushed off. Jughead lifted up his head carefully and saw this Ghoulie pull out a knife. Around them, the other Ghoulies were doing the same, all with the same mutterings: snakes, worms, eels. Serpents, snakes, water-slugs.

"They need to stick to their turf," Ghoulihand was saying. "This is our turf -- the boy's our catch--"

Light and sound exploded into the dark, misty forest clearing. Artificial light, purring engine sound. Motorcycles. Jughead stared around at them fearfully. There must have been ten or so, enough to match the Ghoulies.

"You're on our turf," Ghoulihand was muttering. "I'll wake up more, I will--"

"Wake up whatever you want," said one of the men on a motorcycle. "But you're handing over the kid, Ghoulihand."

When he climbed off his bike, Jughead, squinting through the light from the headlights, could see that the new man was about middle height, and wiry. His leather jacket made him look bigger than he probably really was. Unlike the Ghoulies he wore no spikes or studs or velvet, no makeup or decorative skulls. He looked realer than the very real Ghoulihand. He had stubble on his jaw and shadows under his dark eyes.

"You kill one of their kids," he said. "One of our kids dies too, Ghoulihand, whichever one is twinned to him. It's the way this works. We rise and fall together--"

"They rise," Ghoulihand said bitterly. "We fall."

The newcomer nodded, like he didn't disagree. But he didn't back down either.

"Gimme the kid, Ghoulihand."

Ghoulihand stretched his mouth into a skull grin.

"Or what?" he said. "We fight, FP? We fight and one of us dies. And if one of us dies, one of them does, too. So I still win, FP. Ghoulies still win. We get death on the Northside and the Southside both. Death always wins."

"Gimme the kid."

Ghoulihand launched himself at FP. The Ghoulies followed his lead. Jughead felt himself trembling uncontrollably, his body reacting even as his eyes could barely process the chaos. Punches, jabs, Ghoulies reaching into the dirt and pulling out more Ghoulies. The newcomers had snakes on their jackets, Jughead thought dimly. Snakes versus skulls. Hard to see who to root for -- they both looked bad.

He thought the snakes would lose, because the Ghoulies could very literally appear out of the dirt. But maybe the snakes weren't fighting to win. They were fighting to get to Jughead. FP hit Ghoulihand so hard that the skull grin went slack and dead, and so he reached Jughead first despite having a nasty gash in his side. He hoisted Jughead up. Jughead reacted on instinct, trying to get away.

"Trying to help you," FP snapped. "Don't be dead weight now, boy. Be smart!"

He pulled Jughead to his bike and practically tossed him at it, pulling off Jughead's beanie despite Jughead's protests and replacing it with a helmet. FP put a few fingers to his mouth and whistled, and the snakes fell back to their bikes.

"Hold on," he told Jughead, leveling a finger at him. "You fall off and get killed before we get you to the Northside, one of ours goes, too. I'm not here to see that happen."

He climbed on and made Jughead hold him, then started his bike. FP smelled wet and metallic, like marshes and liquor and iron. This, combined with the speed of the bike tearing them out of the forest, left Jughead light-headed. He could feel sticky blood oozing from under FP's t-shirt.

Jughead didn't think he'd ever seen anybody hurt like this before. Just him, sort of, that time with his wrist.

"Hold on," FP kept telling him. "Hold on, kid."

He could hear the other bikes behind them, and the outraged screams of the Ghoulies. He held on.

They emerged on an ugly street, hemmed in by small houses that faced the forest. Their windows emitted a faint light. They seemed very occupied for the Southside. Their yards were piled with old washing machines, trash bags, pickup trucks, dogs, cheap plastic children's slides, cheaper plastic lawn chairs. Refrigerators and American flags. FP tore up the street and swerved at the railroad tracks, his bike giving a screech of complaint.

Gingerly, he detached Jughead from his midsection. His blood was still sticky on Jughead's hands when FP pulled the helmet off and handed Jughead back the beanie. Jughead grabbed for it and jammed it on his head. He felt like he'd never catch his breath back. FP shoved him gently at the railroad track.

"Go on now. And don't come back. I've gotta hope you didn't find your match and touch him, so maybe there's no harm done. And you'll have some family that misses you, back there on the Northside."

He didn't.

"I don't," Jughead said. He looked back at FP. Something about FP's face felt strangely right, the way the gloom and the autumn of this place felt right. FP looked at him, and for a moment he looked shocked about something.

Behind him, the other snakes were climbing off of their bikes.

"What'd the kid say?" said one. It was a woman. She pulled off her helmet and a riot of shaggy blonde hair tumbled out. She shot Jughead a grin.

"What was that about your family, honey?"

"I don't have--"

"We don't need to talk to the boy, Snake Charmer," FP growled. "Just gotta get him where he belongs." He shoved Jughead at the tracks again, this time so hard that Jughead almost stumbled. He righted himself and crossed.

On the other side, inexplicably, all was sunshine. He turned, and the snakes were standing in sunshine. Jughead blinked at them. It had been dark and fog-riddled a moment ago. It was dark and fog-riddled right on the other side of the tracks, but from here you couldn't see that.

As the snakes climbed back on their bikes, a hand closed on his shoulder. Jughead looked up. Sheriff Keller frowned down at him.

"I've gotta talk to you, boy, about a fire at the school. Got four other boys saying they saw what you did."

-

They did find a place for him. Halfway to the city, beyond the town limits -- a detention center. The Mayor seemed relieved. She said maybe they should have tried to send him to the city to begin with. He did seem to be from there. Certainly he wasn't from here.

They made a little bed for Jughead down at the station, while they waited for the state police to come pick him up. Just in one of the holding cells, but they left the door open, because he was ten. Archie came to see him. Betty was not allowed. Archie was only allowed to stay a bit. They had to get to Mr. Feebly's funeral.

The town was in shock, Archie's father said, shaking his head, because poor Mr. Feebly had fallen somehow and hit his head when he was looking for the source of the fire, and now he was dead.

So no one should have had much pity left over for Jughead, with what had happened to Mr. Feebly. But Pop had it. Pop came, and brought him a milkshake and a burger.

"I talked to that Mayor," he said, tugging anxiously at his cap. Jughead felt how warm the old man was sitting next to him, how warm the cell was, and wondered why here he was always cold. Always cold and always hungry. The burger couldn't fix how hollow he felt.

"I talked to her," Pop was saying. "I told her where you were born. I found you, after all. Saw the blood all left over. Cleaned you up and cleaned up the booth. This is your town, Juggie. This one. I know people don't listen to me, and I'm just an old man. But this thing with them trying to push you on the city. It isn't gonna stick. You've been meant for this little town since you were a baby, and here's the place you belong."

"Jeez, that's really Hallmark Christmas movie, Pop," Jughead said.

He worried, after all, that Pop was wrong.

The night before they took him away, someone stepped out of the shadows and walked into the holding cell. Jughead stared up at him. Somehow he felt like he'd known he would come.

"You can see me, can't you?" FP said. He sounded oddly proud. "Been here less than an hour, and none of them can see me, but you can. You'll see what's there, I bet. No matter what side of the tracks you're on."

He reached out a hand to Jughead. Jughead backed against the wall on instinct. A shadow passed over FP's face, and he pulled his hand back.

FP sat gingerly on the edge of the prison cot. After a second, he pulled off his leather jacket. Jughead saw that, beneath the edge of his t-shirt, he was all bandaged up.

"You killed Ghoulihand," he blurted out, for lack of anything better to say.

FP nodded slowly.

"That's why this other one's dead," he said. He spread his jacket out between them and grabbed Jughead's hand very suddenly. Jughead tried to squirm away, but FP didn't let him. He made Jughead trace the double-headed snake.

"That's what we're all like," FP said. "Connected. You hear of soulmates, boy?"

"Romance novel stuff."

"No," FP said, a hard edge to his voice. "Romance is pretty. And this is ugly, ugly stuff, kid. Look at this snake. One head for the underworld, one head for the world above. One for the water, one for the ground. One for the North, one for the South. Everything's got its mirror, my boy. Here they may tell you that's pretty, that's romantic. On our side of town we know it's not. We suffer for our mirrors, Forsythe."

Jughead looked at him, astonished.

FP looked back. He had dark, dark eyes, not at all like Jughead’s. A part of Jughead clung to the difference, was relieved by it. Another part was almost disappointed.

"Not you, though," FP said, his voice heavy. "I didn't want that for you. That's why--"

He reached out a hand. This time Jughead didn't pull back. He was surprised by the weight of it, by how he could feel FP's warmth through the knit of his hat.

FP was pawing his other hand through his own hair, eyes darting around to take in the cell.

"This isn't what I wanted," he said bitterly. His gaze darted to Jughead, all anxiety.

"You believe me, don't you?" he begged. "Don't you?"

Chapter Text

By the time Jughead got out of juvie, he was old enough to work and board at the Bijou.

Not because he was all that much older. Because Town Hall had quietly passed a resolution about it, after all attempts to foist Jughead off on the city had failed. The city had enough juvenile delinquents, and didn't want an extra one.

Pop and Archie welcomed him back, anyway, with milkshakes and burgers and a jukebox so loud it nearly rattled itself away from the wall. Archie wanted Jughead to come home with him, but in the Andrews household things were quietly exploding in an appropriately Riverdale kind of way. Fred was shaking his head a great deal more than normal -- so a very great deal indeed. And Mary was concocting fairy tales of life in the city. It was better if Jughead stayed at the Bijou.

He was now the gangliest type of teenager. Betty retained her friendly, unpretentious beauty, both inside and out. Archie alternated between handsome clumsiness and surprisingly athletic coordination. Jughead, from thirteen-to-sixteen, talked like he was pretending to be ten years older but walked like he was just learning to use his limbs. He continued to ignore his schoolwork, prefer movies and books to the best of the town, and never cast a shadow.

Sometimes, he crossed the tracks.

Once with Archie and Betty. Just once, and only for a very short period, because FP had said that Northsiders couldn't stay too long. If anyone stayed too long where they didn't belong, the veil thinned, and that, FP intimated, would be very bad indeed.

Jughead assumed a thin veil meant the Ghoulies might get across or something. So he'd only walked his friends a little ways down from Pop's, staying clear of Fox Forest, just to where the first dilapidated row of houses was.

Betty had shivered when she'd caught sight of those houses, shivered and said, "It's kind of spooky, isn't it?" But she'd kept putting one foot in front of the other anyway, not at all as afraid as she thought she was.

And Archie had said, worried, "Stay behind me, guys," and then jumped at every shadow and bird screech.

They agreed that Jughead cast a shadow for a single instant, just across the tracks, when he first crossed over to the Southside. They did not agree that it was darker on the Southside, nor did they seem to feel the autumn chill the way he did. They did not agree that there was anything to see.

They didn't see, Jughead realized. Not the lights on in the houses, the movements behind cheap window blinds. Not the dogs barking in the yards. Not the occasional Southsider, smoking in a doorway or drinking with their fellows outside their little one-story double-wides.

"That place looks empty to you?" Jughead had demanded, pointing at one house.

Archie and Betty had stared at him, bewildered.

"Jughead, that house--" Betty began.

"It doesn't have a roof," said Archie.

"It's got all those boards on the windows--"

"I think I just saw a skunk break through that hollowed-out wall, dude."

It was like they saw another town entirely. After ten minutes Jughead had turned them around and walked them back to the tracks. Archie and Betty had looked carefully at each other, then looked away from each other very quickly any time they caught him looking at their looking.

"Juggie," Betty said carefully, once they'd crossed the tracks back to Riverdale proper. "You don't--you don't really think there's a town there. Do you?"

"Yeah, all that stuff about a freezing town full of ghosts is made up," Archie said, jumping on board. "It's not even all that cold there -- and if it was you'd be freezing, because you're always freezing--"

Jughead looked away, frustrated. He didn't know how to explain that he knew it was strange, but, strange or not, the Southside just was. And anyway it was no stranger than the Northside in some ways. Here he was always so cold he needed a jacket and maybe a hoodie. There he was always so warm he only needed a jacket and maybe a hoodie.

"Jughead?" Betty asked again now.

She looked concerned. Concern put odd shadows in her green eyes and thinned out her mouth. Jughead didn't like that. He felt once more like there was some bubble in his throat, something sitting there that he wanted to tell Betty. But anything he could say would just toss his burdens onto her. So he said nothing for a few seconds.

"Forget it," he decided eventually. "It's your friendly neighborhood paranoid, okay? My stock-in-trade is oddity. Let's not read too much into it."

They were walking for Pop's now, but he veered off. It was past time for him to start setting up the Saturday matinee. Or it would be past time soon. He could use an extra twenty minutes to pick out the best 70s b-movies, anyway.

"I have work," he said. "Later."

He left them behind in the sunshine. When he looked back, Betty was staring after him thoughtfully. His heart flip-flopped. He wished he hadn't taken her to the Southside. He wished he'd asked her about her schedule.

Archie did not stare after him. He just let himself into the projection room during the matinee and stood there with his arms crossed, looking blankly unhappy with the world.

"You weren't telling the truth, were you, Jughead?" he demanded, louder than was maybe appropriate for the room, even though the room was mostly soundproofed.

Jughead shot him an irate glare over his shoulder. He pronounced his next words very carefully.

"If you think I'm a liar, dude--"

"No," Archie said, voice flat. "I don't, Jughead. That's the problem. If you're seeing things--"

"Drop it," Jughead said, turning around to look at him fully.

This was like asking the weather not to be perfect. Like asking Pop not to serve burgers. Like asking Town Hall to stop planning concerts, dances, and maple-tastings. Archie's grim brow said he wouldn't be dropping it. But he didn't pursue it just then, either. Jughead felt a twinge of apprehension. Archie didn't think things over very often, but when he did he was very good at it. So something heavy and burdensome would come bubbling up out of Archie's mouth pretty soon, and Archie wouldn't hold it back.

"It's just another piece of standard me weirdness, okay?" Jughead bit out, into the silence. "I'm not like the rest of Riverdale--"

"You're not from a ghost town, either, Jughead," Archie said.

But he was. His dad lived on the Southside.

FP had tried to take him back there, before juvie. But Jughead had been too afraid of him then. He didn't think he was afraid of FP now. He did think, though, that he was afraid of something, and the something had an FP shape.

After every matinee, he would head to Pop's and ask for an orange crush and some chicken and onion rings (FP had very particular tastes) and then walk back into the Southside. FP lived -- well. It was hard to tell where FP lived. But he had a trailer in a dusk-drenched park ironically called Sunnyside. To get there, Jughead had to take a circuitous route that avoided the forest, sticking to the cracked asphalt streets instead. He knew now to examine the asphalt. Underneath that, you had bare ground. So a few times he'd found FP shouting orders at his fellow Serpents, getting them to lay new asphalt over the park and the streets that hugged the waterfront.

Cracks always reappeared. The Ghoulies were patient, and they had all the time in the world.

"Like death," FP had explained once. "Damn popinjays."

"More like crows," Jughead had suggested.

FP had pointed a finger at him. "That's what they want you to think. Don't ever think what they want you to think!"

By that second 'they' FP could have meant the Ghoulies or the Northside or the city or maybe just anyone who wasn't FP. He’d been almost heroic all those years ago in the forest. But all that Jughead saw of that since was the trace of violence, lingering around FP like a bad stink. Bandaged ribs, bruised cheekbones, scraped knuckles.

FP never talked about the provenance of these things and Jughead learned not to ask. FP was an intractable, mercurial kind of person, slippery as the river. When Jughead came over he might be spinning wild promises about a father-son motorcycle ride. Or he might be directing his men to pave over the Ghoulies. Or he might be in a bad mood, fingering a shot glass but drinking straight from a bottle, and disinclined to do more than bang the trailer wall in answer to a question.

"You're gonna leave?" he'd demand, when he was in a mood like that. "You spend as little time here as you can get away with, after everything I tried to do for you--"

"You abandoned me in a diner," Jughead would retort.

It was a sore topic between them. And Jughead had difficulty keeping his mouth shut about it, even if sometimes snapping back made FP smash his shot glasses on the table, bang his hand on the windowsill so hard it would bleed. He'd only start to look sorry when he caught Jughead's flinch, and by then the damage would be done. Jughead would have to find the bandages and patch him up. His father was like him. He had no Northside good luck. He collected bruises with practiced ease.

But FP wasn't always like this. That was the trouble. Sometimes he was awkward and red-eyed, sentimental, opening with, "You'll stay, right?"

In those moments he was less the violent FP of the forest than the somber FP of the jail cell, passing a hand over the back of Jughead's beanie very tentatively, like he was afraid Jughead would disappear. Jughead didn't. He never vanished when he was on the Southside.

-

Sometimes FP wasn't there.

Jughead would ignore the small slice of disappointment when that happened. He'd leave the chicken, the onion rings, the orange crush on the kitchen table. Then he'd go. He never wanted to wait around in the trailer. Something about it felt like a halfway-station, more temporary hideout than actual home. Even FP moved around in it like he was planning to leave at any minute.

But one day, after backtracking to the door and opening it to the Southside cold, Jughead found himself face to face with four people trooping up the trailer steps.

A girl and three boys. It was night and the streetlight cast a halo on the steps, but they dodged the halo expertly. Jughead made out leather, flannel, ripped denim, and darkness. He stepped back.

"No, don't tell me," said the girl. "Forsythe Pendleton Jones the third."

She moved into the light of the doorway, tossing her pink-streaked hair over one shoulder. It occurred to Jughead that she was beautiful, and then he realized shamefacedly that, because she was a Southsider, for a half-second there he hadn't been expecting her to be.

"Do you mind if we take up your dad's hospitality?" she asked him. "The Southside's Overlook Hotel closed down -- something about being built on a burial ground -- and I'm told that if you check into the Hotel Earle you don't check out. Plus they have a mosquito problem."

"Be my guest," Jughead said, but she was already pushing past him. The three boys followed. All four were Serpents, like his dad -- the jackets told him that much -- but they were much closer to his age. Kids. On the Northside kids were forthright and open, neatly dressed, and tanned in a way that spoke of too much sunshine and too many hours on the playing fields. These kids were leaner, with misty hollows beneath their eyes. They were evening where the Northside boys and girls were a sunny morning. They were like Jughead. This was alarming. Jughead had always considered himself an original.

The girl conquered an armchair. The shorter two boys took the couch, one busying himself with a model radio, the other insouciantly raking blue eyes over Jughead and apparently finding nothing much of interest. The last boy -- so tall he could have taken over the remaining couch easily -- claimed a barstool.

"Jones," he said, and gestured awkwardly at the second couch, "pull up. You taking shelter too? Wanna go a few rounds?"

If he hadn't been pulling a battered pack of cards out of his pocket, Jughead would have assumed he was about to get punched.

"I, uh, I'll pass," he said. "I don't have much of a poker face, and the long road home awaits me."

The tall Serpent stiffened.

"Home?" he said. "The Northside, you mean?"

"Sweet Pea--" began the girl.

"You're not coming down to the water?" Sweet Pea said, charging over her. "Ever?"

"The water?" Jughead said. He stared at him in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other two Serpent boys shifting awkwardly on the couch.

"He doesn't know?" Sweet Pea demanded of them, of the girl.

"I don't know, man," said the blue-eyed one.

"Obviously," said the girl.

"Don't know what?" Jughead said.

"What -- has he never even asked?" Sweet Pea said.

He stood up now, towering over Jughead. Jughead stood his ground, more out of stubbornness than anything else.

"He's never even asked about us," Sweet Pea said, shaking his head. On the couch, the model radio boy's lip curled. The girl seemed to wilt somehow. The blue-eyed boy's gaze was flat, maybe disgusted.

Jughead felt some heavy answering emotion and pushed it down. He couldn't tell whether it was guilt or reciprocal disgust. He hadn't known there were kids on the Southside.

"Let it go, Sweet Pea," was all the girl said, after a few seconds. Then she fluttered a hand at Jughead, as if to acknowledge that he had every right to leave.

Jughead swallowed.

He didn't know what to say. He hadn't ever bothered to ask his dad about how people on the Southside lived. Now that felt like the wrong choice, even though it hadn't been a choice, just a natural evolution of his disappointment over being from the Southside in the first place.

He tried to strike a natural pose against the wall.

"So. Uh. What should I -- what should I know about water?"

The four Serpents looked at each other. Now they didn't seem so much like Jughead himself. They had too much unspoken camaraderie for that. The girl held up a finger.

"I'm gonna start you off smaller than that, Jones--"

"Jughead, actually--"

"Exactly," she said, with a smile and a skittish look at the dirty trailer carpet. "On the Southside, we trade handles before we start sharing our cosmic secrets. Toni--" she pointed to herself, "Fangs--" she pointed to the boy with the radio, "Joaquin--" she pointed to the blue-eyed one, "and, as you might have heard, that's the sourest of peas over there."

Sweet Pea scowled, punctuating the point.

"Hi," Jughead told them all, mostly for lack of anything else to say. "Look, I don't understand where this conversation is going, and I'm not trying to be rude. I just wasn't planning to stick around. I'm not really one for socializing. Or, uh, card games."

Silence for a few seconds.

"You ever punch a Ghoulie?" asked Fangs with the model radio.

Jughead swallowed.

"Uh. No."

Sweet Pea started shaking his head again.

"They don't do that on the Northside," Toni put in. "They have pep rallies, and bubblegum-sweetness, and--"

"Joy," Joaquin sighed. "I'd like to see it."

Sweet Pea spat on the carpet.

Jughead and Toni reacted the same way: with unimpressed disbelief. But where Jughead said, "What the hell--" Toni was up out of her seat and pushing Sweet Pea back onto his barstool, despite being one-third his size.

"Ease up. You know Joaquin's not the first to want to see the place--"

"I never will," Sweet Pea said. "I'd rather kiss a roach than hang with Northsiders. Makes you a roach if you wanna go running back to them, Jones."

Jughead stared at him, brain fuzzy with confusion.

Toni shot a look at him over her shoulder.

"He's obviously itching for a fight," she said, in a surprisingly calm tone. "If you aren't going to give one, you'd better leave."

Jughead backed out of the trailer.

-

On the Northside, things were no more peaceful than they were on the South. As Jughead crossed the tracks and rounded the corner of the Chock'lit Shoppe, he saw two girls dart out.

Betty. And Betty's sister, Polly. Normally Polly was Betty's slightly taller twin, just as fair, just as kind, just as lightly disconnected from a world that existed to reflect back the many sweet capabilities of the Cooper girls.

Not today, though.

"You don't know them!" she was screaming at Betty. "You don't know what they're capable of, Betty! You can't trust them!"

Then she pushed off of her sister. Though Betty was pleading with her, and though Betty's friend, Kevin Keller, had come out of Pop's to wring his hands anxiously and offer other generally supportive gestures, Polly was running across the parking lot.

Jason Blossom's car pulled up. A cherry red convertible, fast enough for Jason and his friends to use it to knock off mailboxes, to terrorize the cul de sacs, but expensive enough to guarantee that Jason's picture would still adorn the Town Hall bulletin no matter how much of the town he desecrated.

Jason Blossom, Model Citizen of the Week, For Donating to the Maple-Tasting Event Fund.

Polly climbed into the car despite her sister's protests. Then she and Jason were off.

Chapter Text

The week after Jughead met the teenage Southsiders, after the Cooper girls fought, a third oddity announced itself.

It wore pearls. She wore pearls. Archie was enraptured. Mr. Flutesnoot invited her to introduce herself.

"Veronica Lodge," she said. She said it like she was introducing the whole town to a novel concept: hello, Riverdale, here is something cinematic and shadowy. Here is modernity, darkly glamorous and unexpected. Here is everything bursting into life instead of merely sunning itself in it, here is the spring itself, and this spring the look includes pearls.

"I've landed in your quaint little hamlet," she told the class, every word doled out like a favor, "because my father, Hiram Lodge--"

The name rippled through the room. Jughead frowned, thinking of accusatory headlines.

"--oh, you've heard of him," Veronica said. Her smile stuttered. Her dark eyes let show some surprisingly honest upset. But this didn't creep into her voice. When she continued, it was like she was discussing a beloved poodle that had performed an amazing trick. "Daddy has had a little too much business success, and needs a break. Besides, the city's worst rags are publishing all kinds of nonsense about him--"

"So's the Register," Reggie whispered to Dilton and Chuck, causing them to snicker.

"--and so our family has relocated in order to get some much-needed new scenery," Veronica finished. She found Reggie and Dilton and Chuck and noted them. Then, when Flutesnoot indicated that she should take a seat, she swept by them deliberately, head high, and let her handbag hit Reggie in the head.

The gesture communicated all:

you are beneath the notice of Veronica Lodge. Redeem yourself, please.

"Is she for real?" Kevin whispered to Betty and Archie.

"Hope so," Archie managed.

Betty looked briefly perturbed, but possibly only Jughead noticed.

Everyone else was eyeing Cheryl Blossom, Jason's twin sister. Cheryl, living venom in a Vixens uniform, examined herself in her makeup compact in order to demonstrate that she hadn't noticed Veronica Lodge at all.

But Cheryl was as casually unpredictable as her brother was. At lunch, when Veronica veered off the line with her tray, Cheryl sidestepped neatly in front of her.

"You'll want to sit with me," she said, making it an announcement for the benefit of the whole cafeteria.

"Will I, girl?" said Veronica. There was a thread of frankness in her retort that Cheryl's retorts never managed. Even Jughead wanted to hear what Cheryl might say in response, but before he could, Betty slid her tray onto his table.

"Mind if I sit here, Juggie?" she asked.

Because she was Betty, she was light and polite about this, and because she was Betty, Jughead never would have said no. But it did occur to him, in a sort of distant way, that she'd done something very un-Betty-like, which was to take the seat before she'd actually had permission to do so.

He now faced a sunny Betty smile (not Betty's real smile). Also a very set Betty chin.

"So, um," she began. Her smile intensified. "I wanted to talk to you. About the Southside, actually. You know, since you kept saying you'd found something there."

Jughead's heart dropped somewhere near his knees. To keep from making this too obvious, he took a bite of his sandwich and focused on the plastic grains in his lunch tray.

"Polly was talking about some really weird stuff this weekend," Betty said carefully. "She had a big fight with my mom and dad. And some stuff came out about Jason looking for something on the Southside, and how if we weren't careful she was going to go there with him--"

Jughead's eyes snapped to hers, alarmed. Betty seemed to catch his alarm and hold it there between them.

"Is there something in the Southside?" she said. "Something Jason would look for?"

There were Serpents, who wanted nothing to do with the Northside. There were Ghoulies, who posed a danger to it. There was the hidden phantom-town none of the Northsiders could see, none of the Northsiders should see, because if you crossed into the world of the Southside then maybe you crossed into the world of the Ghoulies.

If Jason and Polly were planning on heading into the Southside, that could be a problem.

"You know something," Betty said. "Right?"

Jughead chewed his sandwich furiously and tried to think of an answer.

In some other world, maybe, he would be able to tell Betty Cooper about FP. About the Southside teenagers, odd sulky mirrors of the Northside ones. But in this world shame glued up his mouth.

"I couldn't begin to guess what a guy like Jason Blossom would want, Betty," he said finally, because this was at least true. He started in on his apple.

"Jason is field hockey and water polo," he added, between bites. "I'm Frankenstein and Werner Herzog."

Betty tucked a wayward strand of golden hair behind her ear.

"Well, maybe you and I could go down to the Southside and investigate," Betty offered. She tossed the suggestion out with a modest, determined little smile. It still wasn't her real smile. Jughead could think of nothing he wanted more than to be courageous enough to take her to the Southside and show her where he came from, but what would be the point? And, anyway, it would put her in danger.

"You and me, Jug," Betty insisted anyway.

The lovely not-true smile bobbed at him. Across the cafeteria, Veronica Lodge had snubbed Cheryl Blossom and seated herself with Archie instead, and Betty gave this only the most cursory of glances. If Jughead were less of a pessimist, he might delude himself into thinking Betty didn't care about that.

"I can't help," he said. He finished his apple. Downed the last of his milk. Stood up and picked up his tray.

"Sorry," he added, though it didn't really make things better for either of them.

-

Later that night, he regretted not being smoother, kinder, braver -- different.

Pop's. Dinnertime. A group had formed to introduce Veronica Lodge to the concept of a Chock'lit Shoppe. Jughead was not included in it. Archie was wrapped up in Veronica already, Betty was avoiding looking at Jughead, Kevin Keller and Jughead generally had little to do with each other, and Veronica Lodge was discovering that Riverdale's eternal summers and boundless extracurriculars and other bits of small-town perfection were sort of a monkey's paw situation.

"I was thinking of a small weekend get-together to get to know my classmates, which brings me to the essential question. What do we have in the way of refreshment?" she said. "Harder than milkshakes, but not heroin-level. Just something to cheer up a Saturday."

"Egg creams?" Archie offered.

Veronica turned a look on him that was both puzzlingly charmed and vaguely disappointed, like she'd asked for a night at the ballet and been presented with an adorable pet mouse in a tutu.

"Clubs?" she said.

"Rotary club," Kevin suggested.

"Is this town stuck in 1963?" said Veronica.

In the booth across from her, Cheryl Blossom, who'd been snubbing her in exchange for Veronica's earlier snub, shot Veronica a darkly beautiful glare. Jughead saw her do it. Because he was sitting alone, he was able to jot it down and capture what it looked like: a poppy dipped in poison.

He heard the door bell chime.

He was the only one who heard it. Pop, who usually looked up at the bell chime, kept flipping burgers in the back. Cheryl's minions kept praising her in order to drown out the chatter from Veronica. Betty kept looking everywhere but at Jughead, Archie, and Veronica.

Joaquin slipped in and took the barstool next to Jughead.

Jughead goggled at him. Joaquin goggled at everything. The shiny chrome, the chipper waiters. Even the menus, though he had difficulty grasping them. On the first few tries his hands passed through, like he was experiencing one of Jughead's vanishings.

"What are you doing here?" Jughead hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

No one would see Joaquin, of that he was sure. Until the veil thinned, no Northsider could see anything Southside. How much time did Joaquin have until his veil thinned?

"It's just for a little bit," Joaquin told him, although that didn't answer Jughead's question.

"What about the Ghoulies?" Jughead said.

"What about them?" said Joaquin. "Evil doesn't come here, man. They wake up, they wake up on our side of town. Your preppy friends are all safe."

That was -- that was both a relief and a very strange fact. Jughead tried to process it, to line up with the other facts he'd learned.

As he did this, Pop came by to slide him another coffee. Joaquin stared at the dark liquid with interest. Jughead knew they had coffee on the Southside, but he'd never tasted it. It seemed to him suddenly that maybe there it might taste different. Cheaper, thinner. Maybe just less taste overall. The Southside seemed real to him, but it had a trick darkness to it, too, a phantom nature. All the light of the Northside, by comparison, seemed to wash out even the memories of it.

He passed Joaquin the coffee. Joaquin took a few tries to hold it, then brought it to his lips. He looked pensive as he tried it.

"What I'd really want," he said, careful as a cat sticking out an experimental paw, "is one of those milkshakes."

"You've got to be kidding me," Jughead said.

But he ordered one anyway. Orange Crush, because he knew at least one Southsider who preferred that. Joaquin drank it all in one determined go and said that it tasted the way everything around them felt.

"You warm?" he demanded of Jughead.

"I'm always cold here."

Joaquin shook his head, like he couldn't figure Jughead out. Then he stood. Jughead made several jerky, aborted motions to get him to sit back down, but Joaquin ignored him. Pop's had a glow the Southside could never obtain, and the glow seemed to pull Joaquin into roaming from booth to booth, peering into faces that couldn't peer back. Jughead was after him before he realized how strange this made him look. No one could see Joaquin. All they saw was Jughead lurching to a stop in front of their booth.

"Can I help you, hobo king?" Cheryl Blossom said.

"Cheryl," Jughead said awkwardly. He couldn't talk to Cheryl. It was nothing personal. It was just that while his strangeness made him chilly and remote, Cheryl's made her crackle, pushed her to the forefront. It clung to her shoulders like a furious pet, yowling at everybody.

"Shoo," she said, making a little hand gesture, like she knew as well as he did that they simply could not coexist in the same frame.

Jughead took a step back, knocking into Joaquin. No one else could tell he was doing this, but Jughead could. When he whirled around, everyone in Archie and Betty's booth was staring at him.

Joaquin was staring at Kevin Keller. There was an indistinct fever in Joaquin's very blue eyes.

Madness, like every other kind of malady, seemed to dodge most Riverdalians pretty neatly. The hospital was mainly used for births and to showcase performances from local youth artists. And anyone who seemed depressed or erratic just went to the Sisters for a few months. So Jughead had only ever seen this kind of thing in juvie. Maybe it wasn't even madness. Maybe it was more of a hunger. Juvie had been a holding pen for hungry boys, boys who wanted your lunch portion, boys who wanted your hat, boys who wanted just to tackle you and see what there was for the taking. Boys who wanted without thinking about what they could even get because he who eats the fastest eats the most, because when you had nothing and the world had everything, it felt like there might be a power in indiscriminate want.

Joaquin reached out a hand.

Jughead tried to stop him. It must have looked strange to everybody else -- Jughead darting out a hand, ineffectively, and almost careening into Archie. It didn't work, anyway. All Joaquin had to do was make a fast snake-movement over the table, and then he was closing his fingers on Kevin's jaw.

The world shifted slightly.

The world became more real.

There was no other way to describe this. Jughead would have said, a second before, that the dreamy nostalgic neon of Pop's was real. This would have been wrong. It wasn't real until Joaquin seemed to enter it fully, until Kevin jerked back, surprised, and everyone fixed their eyes on Joaquin like they could finally see him.

"Who's your friend, Jug?" Archie said, sounding confused.

It came across like normal Archie confusion. Not the confusion of someone who had seen a boy appear out of thin air, but just the confusion of someone whose hindbrain was maybe telling him he'd failed to notice something that had been there all along. Everyone was acting like that. Betty was shooting a glance at Kevin like she was worried for him, Veronica Lodge was making enquiries about Joaquin perhaps knowing where to find refreshment for the party. Kevin was stuck, pinned by the blue gaze.

"Hi, preppy," Joaquin said. His eyes looked like they wanted to eat Kevin. Joaquin was shaking, Jughead realized.

FP had said the two sides must never touch. North and South. He'd said it would be bad. He hadn't said it would be bad for the Southsiders. Joaquin's skin was glistening with sweat, his eyes looked especially sunken, and he was shaking.

And he looked, Jughead thought uneasily, like he might do anything.

Joaquin licked his lips.

"You've got something I want, preppy," he told Kevin seriously. "And I'm gonna take it."

He launched himself across the table. Everyone moved away, with shocked shouts. But not Jughead.

Jughead's brand was already strangeness, so he didn't think much of hauling Joaquin out of there. Even if Joaquin fought, cursed him, even if everyone else looked shocked and mildly upset. Jughead Jones causing a scene. Jughead Jones, odd and quiet until he reminded you he could be odd and inappropriate. He and Joaquin upended a few straw-holders and knocked into the jukebox, making it stutter. The stuttering added whole new meta-dimensions to Blue Moon. Pop waved his hands agitatedly and just said, "Outside, Juggie, please," making Jughead feel perhaps a prickle of shame at what they were doing to the place. Both Cheryl and Veronica Lodge were now standing primly on their respective vinyl seats, trying to stay above the chaos. Archie was clumsily trying to offer help. Jughead waved him off.

"I got this. He's just -- he's sick, dude," Jughead said.

That much was clear. Once he got Joaquin out the door and across the tracks, it became clearer. Joaquin fell to his knees and began to retch.

"That kid--"

"Kevin?" Jughead asked, dumbfounded. He never would have guessed that Kevin Keller could prompt these kinds of reactions in anybody. Kevin was a byword for Riverdale -- well-groomed, friendly, and supportive of others. Jughead and Kevin weren't friends, but if people disliked Kevin or wanted to do Kevin violence, Jughead had to assume that it was bigotry. Kevin was unimpeachably good at socializing unless you were a homophobe, so good at it that Jughead -- who was not blessed with any social graces -- viewed him with the puzzlement that monkeys in cages reserved for chatty, free-moving zookeepers.

Joaquin was trying to crawl back to Kevin. The retching was making it hard. Jughead pulled him back anyway, to keep him from getting trapped on the tracks or something, and was rewarded with an elbow to the eye.

"That kid has everything--" Joaquin was saying.

"Right," Jughead said hurriedly, still trying to pull him back.

"No, it's not right," Joaquin snapped. Then he began to babble. "He's got my warmth, my water, my food, my light -- he's got this whole warm dream he gets to live in. He's got what I don't get. He's got--"

The pavement beneath Joaquin's knees began to crack. Like something on the other side was punching its way through. Alarmed, Jughead tried to haul him up. Joaquin was shaking too much to be any help.

"My good, my happiness, my luck--"

A hand punched its way through the pavement. The outline of each fingerbone was tattooed right where it should be, right on the cadaver-pale skin above its complement. Jughead swore. He didn't want to abandon Joaquin to the Ghoulies, but Joaquin wasn't helping him.

"I have to get it from him. I have to get it--"

"You have to move--"

A second hand -- probably unrelated to the first -- punched through. Jughead sidestepped it and was seriously considering picking up a loose rail spoke and knocking Joaquin out with it, when the familiar roar of a motorcycle rescued them.

It wasn't FP. It was the blonde he'd seen years ago, one of the few female Serpents.

"Oh shit," was all she said, a little mildly, when she saw Joaquin.

"What's wrong with him?" Jughead demanded.

She shrugged, like the situation merited nothing more.

"A light there needs a shadow here," she said. "He's must have figured out he's the shadow. That's not pretty, the first time it really hits."

"He looks like he's tweaking out! And there's Ghoulies!"

"So he is," she said. "So there are. God, your dad said you were smart, and you are just hitting on all sixes and proving it, aren't you?"

She swung herself off of her bike, crossed to the railway spoke, and brained Joaquin with it. Although Jughead himself had been considering the action, the reality of seeing it -- so sudden and violent, with Joaquin slumping -- made him flinch.

The woman waved at him.

"Help me get him on my bike, before they get through. He's got to be put into the water."

There that detail was again. As Jughead helped her carry him to the bike and tie him on with his jacket and hers, while below them the ground cracked, he said, "Why the--"

"It's crazy that your dad hasn't told you that," said the woman, with a grin. "Maybe he wants you to figure it out. We could talk about it and let the Ghoulies catch up with us. Should we do that?"

No. Obviously not. Jughead could hear more of them pounding now, could see more hands forcing through and trying to dig out their owners.

By the time the Serpent had swung back onto her bike, he was running for the Northside.

-

A light here needed a shadow there.

And when you found out you were the shadow, and not the light, it could make you crazy. It could make you feel sick, hungry, even resentful.

Odd, how normal Joaquin's emotions felt to Jughead. He'd never gotten violently ill over them, though. He was just sort of quietly sick, a permanent state of quiet sickness that meant insomniac nights at the Bijou, trying to figure out the difference between light and dark, good and evil, through meticulous study of B-movie horrors.

It was chilly and silent in the empty theater. He was watching The Grapes of Death with the sound off, just gore and subtitles for him. He was trying to accept how pesticides could turn normal farmers into homicidal maniacs.

Betty slipped in. Jughead realized that he never really gave her credit for how she could slip, and sneak, and slide along into places far more smoothly than he could. If Betty was a flash of sunshine, then she moved the way sunshine did, getting in through the cracks when you thought you might be able to keep it out.

"Hi Juggie," she said softly.

Jughead felt shamefaced, and not just because she'd found him treating himself to a backsplash of murder and mayhem.

"About Polly and Jason--" he began.

She'd been asking for his help. She needed his help, to keep them out of the Southside. The Southside needed them out, too, because when it touched the Northside it apparently went insane. So it shouldn't be hard to step up and just do what was needed.

"I'm sorry," Betty said, cutting him off. "I shouldn't have pressed you, Jug. But I need your help. Polly's gone. My parents were apparently planning to have her taken to the Sisters--" she made a face, "--but when they tried to break into her room she'd already climbed out of the window. She's gone to the Southside with Jason."

The gore onscreen played a glittering light-game on her steady gaze.

"You know what's out there, don't you, Juggie? So you'd tell me, right, if it wanted to hurt her?"

Chapter Text

If Jughead thought it was bad that Betty wanted to get information out of him, that was nothing compared to the information Betty thrust onto him.

"I'm going to go into the Southside to get Polly," she told him. "My mom and dad can't be trusted to bring her back. And she's furious at them. When Polly's angry, you don't know what she's capable of."

When Betty was this determined, Jughead wasn't sure anyone knew what she was capable of. She was already texting Archie to see if Archie would come. He stopped her with a warning hand. Better not put Archie in danger, too.

"It's not safe," he told Betty.

"Your friend today," Betty said, dismissing this objection as possibly too expected. "Was he -- you know. One of those addicts that sometimes comes out of there?"

Lurching out of the mist, wild-eyed and violent, responsible for a scattered number of deaths across the decades. Oddly, Jughead thought he was exactly like those people. Like maybe Joaquin wasn't the first Southsider to make the mistake of trying to grasp the Northside.

"What's in there?" Betty asked again.

While they walked over, he tried his best to explain.

"There's things in the Southside," he said. "Things I see, that other people don't."

"All other people?" Betty asked. "Or just me and Archie? Can Jason see some of them, maybe? Polly said he wanted to take her away from here, away from his family. That his family was afraid of something in the water -- something that could get them away."

Jughead frowned.

There it was again. The piece he hadn't grasped yet, the piece about the water. He helped Betty awkwardly cross the tracks and tried to think of an answer. She watched him expectantly, her eyes luminous in the growing gloom around them.

He made sure they crossed on the far side, by Main Street, away from Pop's and from where the Ghoulies had been earlier. This section of the Southside was lit by mist-shrouded lampposts. He wondered if Betty could see them, if she could see the little row of sagging houses strung with orange christmas lights by Pickens Park, the purple neon sign above the pawnshop, the blue sparks behind the windows of a nearby garage.

"Why would anyone walk into a place this empty?" Betty asked the neon quiet, after they'd been walking for a good ten minutes.

"It isn't empty," Jughead admitted.

The words slipped out shamefully, but it turned out to be like releasing a pressure valve. The shame just hung loose in the air, then evaporated into nothing. Betty didn't seem judgmental. She only seemed interested.

"And?" she prompted. "What's over here?"

"A working garage," Jughead said, pointing at it. "People's homes. That library over there -- open until nine, by the way. Streetlights. The park. Two people waiting in that car over there. I don't know what for. It's pretty normal when you get down to it. It's just that I can see what's here, and you see-"

"Junk," Betty said. "Burned-out buildings. A garbage dump--" there she was pointing at the park, which admittedly was dirty, and besides which was full of bare ground, so Jughead steered her carefully away from it.

"--and that car," Betty said, "is just an abandoned wreck to me, Juggie."

She still wasn't judgmental. She still was mostly puzzled. Jughead took this as a good sign.

"Not to get all Haley Joel Osment," he said. "But think about it this way. I can see the dead. Only they're not dead. They're here, they're real, and, uh, this is gonna sound weird, but also certain death waits in the ground to claim them."

They'd passed one side of the park and, peering down the three blocks that formed another side, Jughead caught sight of a sign.

HERMANOS HUANG 24-HR MEXICAN-CHINESE BODEGA

Every bright letter took a firm stand against the cold gloom. The sign was attached to a squat little brick building that sheltered several ice coolers on its porch. It gave Jughead an idea of how to make her understand.

The Northside couldn't see what belonged to the Southside. The Northside could only see what belonged to the Northside.

Betty was peppering him with questions and he tried his best to answer them as he walked her over to the bodega. He realized, though, that even in this short walk he was starting to test the bounds of credulity.

"Living gang zombies?" Betty demanded.

"Living gang zombies."

"And then different gang zombies with snakes and bikes?"

"Different gang, with snakes and bikes. Not zombies. I think. I think some of those are just kids. Actually, maybe some of the other ones are kids too."

"Kids live here?"

"I know, right?"

He had to practically tug her up the steps to the grocery, because she was regarding them like they weren't structurally safe. Maybe to her they weren't. When they were on the porch, he reached into one of the coolers and pulled out a violently red soft drink that was probably just corn syrup and food coloring.

"Got fifty cents?" he asked.

"Why?" Betty demanded. "Jug, why did you pick up an empty bottle? Why are we -- We can't go in there, Juggie. That place has to be condemned."

It didn't look condemned to him. The doorbell gave a tinkle when he pushed it open. Inside, the store was clogged with more soft drinks, coffee, tea, soap, dishwashing liquid, broom handles, floor cleaner, shoe cleaner, house robes, toilet paper, mangoes, heads of lettuce, chewing gum, cigarettes, loose floor tiles, a cat. Tons more, too. Jughead felt the cat brush around his knees and then saw it carefully avoid Betty, like it understood the rules. He went to the grimy counter and put the red drink on it.

"Fifty cents," he told Betty. "Right here on the counter. I'll pay you back if this works."

Betty was glancing uneasily around, as though she thought the room would fall down around their heads, but she took fifty cents out of her pocket.

Before she could put it on the counter, a familiar form lurking just behind it stood up. Up. Up-up. Sweet Pea was still very tall.

"What's she doing here?" he demanded.

"What's it look like? Buying a drink," Jughead said. "Just ring her up, okay?"

"We don't sell to Northsiders--"

"Who are you talking to?" Betty said. "What's going on?"

"You'd better get her out of here before her time wears off," Sweet Pea snapped. "The Ghoulies might not be able to touch her right now, but I'll kick her out to the park myself and let them have at her once she's crossed over completely."

Jughead felt himself moving instinctively between Betty and Sweet Pea.

"Just ring her up, Sweet Pea," he said, trying to keep his voice level despite his rising panic. "Once you ring her up, we'll get out of here."

"Who are you talking to?" Betty demanded again.

Scowling, Sweet Pea rang her up, taking the two quarters Betty had dropped on the counter like he was being asked to pocket live water bugs. When he slammed a receipt on the counter next to soft drink, Betty blinked.

"I--I didn't notice that that was full," she said, reaching for the bottle. Sweet Pea dodged her arm dramatically, like he thought she might have cooties. Jughead rolled his eyes.

"What's her birthday?" Sweet Pea said, apropos of nothing.

"What's that matter?"

"Juggie?" Betty said. She'd discovered the receipt. She read it out: time, date, place, item purchased.

"Why can I see this?" Betty said. "I feel like -- like I just wasn't seeing something that's been here the whole time--"

"Yeah. Us," Sweet Pea snorted. "Except that when you use all your fancy money to claim what's ours, to own it, then you take it from us and make it finally worth your time and attention--"

"You bought it," Jughead said, translating for Betty's benefit. "From the Marxist-Leninist hooligan standing behind the counter, who you can't see."

Sweet Pea scowled again.

"When's her birthday?" he said, more aggressively now than before.

"Why do you need to know that--"

The doorbell tinkled. Jughead turned, wondering if Betty would even see it open, and found himself face to face with Toni.

When she saw Betty, she reacted like she was scalded.

"Who's she?" Toni said. Her voice was very high.

"Tell us her birthday," Sweet Pea said. "Don't touch her, Toni."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Toni snapped. She was pressed against a rack of sponges and dish soap, as far away from Betty as she could get. While Betty stared at Jughead in confusion, Toni said, "Why would you bring her here?"

"What's the big deal?" Jughead said. "I'm assuming most of you know not to touch her--"

"I can't touch her," Toni said. "Me. Me. You brought her here and now if something happens to her, it happens to me."

Sweet Pea smacked the counter violently. "She's your match?" he said. "Shit! Get her out of here, Jones!"

Jughead put it together. A light in the Northside required a shadow on the Southside. Toni was Betty's shadow. Toni touching Betty would hurt Toni.

"She's your soulmate," Jughead said. "I hadn't--I didn't--"

"Woah. Nope. Let's not call it that," Toni said flatly, as Betty said, "Who's my what-now?"

Jughead tugged her towards the door as Toni continued to flatten herself into the sponge display and Sweet Pea came barreling out from behind the counter, planting himself in front of Toni. But at the threshold, Betty stopped. She was immovable. She suddenly reached out a hand and touched the coca-cola sign on the door, the stacked boxes of clementines right next to her, and Jughead realized that whatever the veil was, it must have lifted for her.

"Juggie!" she said. "I can see it!"

She was treated to exaggerated groans. Whatever magic there was in this moment, Sweet Pea and Toni swiftly dashed it for her.

"Great. Go now. Try not to get killed by Ghoulies," Sweet Pea ordered.

Betty whirled around to face them.

"You were here the whole time!" she said, astonished.

"Yeah. We know," Toni said. She jerked her chin at the door. "But like Sweet Pea said, scram."

Betty turned huge, slightly offended eyes on Jughead.

"Okay, these are the snakes," she said slowly, because that much was evident from Sweet Pea's vest and Toni's jacket, "and if this is the more welcoming half of the Southside, I don't want to see the zombies."

"Are we a museum exhibit?" Toni demanded.

Betty thrust her chin out, resolute.

"I have some questions to ask, and then I'll go," she said, like Toni hadn't spoken. "I need to know something. My sister and her boyfriend came here to the Southside---"

"What?" Sweet Pea said. He hit the display and sponges rained down. Toni dodged them, shooting him an annoyed look. Then she spoke.

"Of course they came to the Southside." She rolled her eyes at this. "And by now the protection's probably worn off--"

"The what?" Betty said.

"The veil that separates us from you, South from North. Keep up, ponytail," Toni said testily. "We can see you, but you can't see or touch us. And we're more or less safe. But then you stick around and it wears off. It always wears off when people try to cross over. And once it wears off it makes you a weapon."

Betty's mouth dropped.

"Betts," Jughead said. "Let's just go--"

"I am only looking for my sister," she said hotly. "Polly said that she and Jason were trying to get to the water. There's someone by the water who they thought might be able to help them--"

"Ah," Toni said. She nodded her head a little dramatically, like she had just the answer Betty was looking for. "Right. Well. You'll want the Head Serpent."

Jughead felt a pit of ice form in his stomach.

"The what?" Betty said.

"His dad," Sweet Pea said.

Betty stared at him.

"You have a dad?"

"Noooo," Toni said, rolling her eyes again. "Southsiders are born through creepy genetic cloning experiments. Of course he has a dad."

This didn't erase any of the shock in Betty's stare.

"You're from the Southside?"

Chapter Text

In the end, Sweet Pea and Toni drove them back to the tracks on their bikes. They did this as fractiously as possible. Betty rode with Sweet Pea and Jughead with Toni, because Toni wanted nothing to do with Betty.

"Neither do I want you to get killed by Ghoulies, though," she said, as she waved them back to the Northside. "So do me a favor. Don't come back here. Because if you die, I die."

Then she and Sweet Pea left.

Betty's eyes were wet, but Jughead thought it was anger, not sadness. He trailed behind her and wondered just why he couldn't seem to have offer her anything concrete, anything useful. If he could vanish right now, he would.

At the side of the train depot, Betty turned, put her back to the wall, and slowly slid down it.

"You know," she said, and her face crumpled, "I only wanted to find Polly, Jug. I didn't mean to force you into -- into whatever that was--"

"I should have told you," Jughead said quickly. "I was telling you what I could see, but not why--"

Betty shook her head.

"Did I tell you that my mom owns a gun for some reason?" she said. "Or that Polly is spewing nonsense about how she needs to help Jason get away from something truly evil? Or that my dad is literally crazy because according to him, like fifty years ago the Blossoms stole everything from us, and also they're our cousins?"

Jughead blinked at her.

"No," he said awkwardly. "But, to be fair, that doesn't say anything bad about you, Betty."

Betty looked into his eyes. Jughead felt his whole heart shudder. For a second everything inside him was lit up and jumbled, just a whole lot of shining pandemonium.

"I have to find her, Jug," Betty said, and her voice broke. "If it really is that dangerous over there, with those Ghoulies--"

Jughead dared to reach for her hand. Betty curled her fingers into his.

"But they don't want their soulmates to die," she said, after a second. She blurted it out very suddenly, like an epiphany.

"Right?" she continued. "So if Polly and Jason have soulmates there, and we find them and explain, they'll react the way that girl--"

"Toni."

"Right!" Betty said.

"Maybe you shouldn't call her your soulmate."

Betty waved him away. Now she stood and began to pace back and forth along the alley next to the train depot.

"If we find Polly and Jason's soulmates, they'll want to get Polly and Jason out of the Southside before anything happens to them--"

"--unless they're Ghoulies," Jughead pointed out.

"They'd have to both be Ghoulies for this not to work," Betty said. "We just need to--"

She trailed off and began to look crestfallen again.

"We need to figure out who they are," she said, after a second. "And I have no idea how we do that."

She stared down at her hands, disappointed in herself. But now something was occurring to Jughead.

"When's Polly's birthday?"

"March fifth," Betty said. Then she came to the same conclusion Jughead had.

"If you die at the same time as your soulmate--"

"It's actually really weird to call them soulmates," Jughead put in. Betty waved him off again.

"Maybe you're born at the same time, too," she said. "So if we figure out who was born when Polly and Jason were -- let's see, his and Cheryl's birthday is in February, and they're a year older than us, and twins, so finding their matches shouldn't be hard--"

She stopped pacing and looked at him expectantly.

"We need to go to Southside Town Hall," she announced. "Or wherever they keep their records. Quickly. Now."

Jughead felt himself frowning. He wasn't sure the Southsiders had a Town Hall. He definitely couldn't envision FP submitting himself to any kind of government authority.

Someone cleared their throat. Jughead jumped. Betty didn't, although her eyes did widen.

FP and Polly were standing at the mouth of the alley. Polly's face was streaked with tears. FP had a grip on her arm that was somehow both businesslike and full of parental disappointment, and Jughead, who had never seen FP act like a parent, was astonished by this.

"Lot of people looking for me today," he told Jughead. "I got you to blame for that, Jughead?"

"Seriously?" Jughead said.

FP let Polly go. She stumbled to her sister. Betty received her with a look of stupefaction, like she felt that mysteries, as a rule, should not be this easily resolved, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything.

"Betty," Polly sobbed. "Jason. He-- he---"

"No use looking for that boy's match," FP informed Jughead. He examined his hands. Jughead realized that they were coated in something -- oil or mud or blood or all three. Polly's sleeve was streaked with it.

"No one was ever born to match that kid," FP muttered. "Not with what he was."

"Was?" Jughead said, his brain struggling to catch up with the new information. "Why past tense?"

"Polly, what happened?" Betty was saying.

"They came out of the ground," Polly said. "And--and he showed up--"

She pointed an accusatory finger at FP, who with his dark eyes glittering defiantly only put Jughead in mind of that day years ago, in the forest, when he'd hit a man so savagely he'd killed him.

"What did you do?" Jughead demanded. "Did you kill Jason?"

Betty looked at him, shocked, but FP just hit the wall of the depot.

"Jesus, Jughead."

"Did you?" Jughead insisted. "Or did the Ghoulies do it? Did you just not save him because you think his death isn't going to take out anybody on the Southside--"

FP's gaze was cold.

"I'm not a killer," he said, after a long pause, a pause filled up only by Polly's sobs. FP seemed impervious to them. "And you, Jughead, you think there's darkness in the Southside?"

He broke off with a bitter grin.

"That's nothing compared to what they've got up at Thornhill. You think there's two towns here? No. There's us. There's them--" here he pointed now at Betty and Polly. "--and there's the Blossoms. And the Blossoms, kid. They're something else."

Even after he'd turned and left, his words hung so heavily in the air that it took Jughead a few minutes to realize Betty hadn't even been able to hear them.

-

Polly Cooper, everyone understood, had had some kind of nervous breakdown after an addict came out of the Southside and attacked her and her boyfriend. Jason was officially pronounced missing. Polly was sent to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Clifford and Penelope Blossom spoke at a Town Hall meeting about the importance of avoiding the Southside, generally.

A well-dressed man in the third row stood, the action smooth and deliberate. Jughead, who was standing in the back, craned his neck to get a better look.

"I can't believe I have to say this," the man said, "but what about your missing boy?"

A murmur rippled out around him, helped along by some careful whispers from his wife.

"I mean, if it were my Veronica--"

Hiram Lodge held his hands out, palms up, examining them thoughtfully.

"Thank you for your concern, Hiram, but we have people we trust who will be going into the Southside to retrieve him--" Clifford Blossom said stiffly.

"People you trust?" said Hiram Lodge. "This is a police matter, surely. We came to this town to get away from the degraded violence of the city, and if some unspeakable evil got your Jason and you don't care, that's fine by me, but what about the children of other people?"

More murmurs. Fred Andrews was turning around to look at Hiram now, with a confused expression. Alice Cooper was, too, but she was just rolling her eyes. Next to her, both Betty and her husband were making frantic gestures clearly intended to keep her in her seat. The gestures accomplished very little. Alice shot up, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

"I cannot believe I am agreeing with this crocodile--"

Hiram raised a single dark brow. Alice's were already raised, possibly just in an attempt to beat him at eyebrow-raising.

"--but what we need is a barricade in front of the Southside--"

"Surely sending in the sheriff and his men to just deal with this would be less of a drain on the public coffers," Hiram put in.

"Oh, like you can talk about less of a drain, you bloodsucker," Alice said. "After all you embezzled from the city's government--"

"Excuse me, Alice?" Hiram said, beginning to show annoyance now.

"No," Alice said blithely. "It was my Polly who was viciously attacked, and I want the Southside blocked off--"

Half of the room was chiming in and agreeing with her. Shouts filled the hall. Fred Andrews began to massage his temples. The Mayor called for order. In the back of the room, Jughead was breathing heavily and couldn't quite understand why. It would be better if they closed off the Southside. If they sent people in, if those people stayed too long--

What would happen then? What would happen if the Southsiders were discovered?

It would be like cracking open all the things that could happen in the dark. Theft and violence and mayhem. Secrets and conspiracies. Every wicked thing the town had buried long ago. Jughead shivered.

But by now the Mayor had grabbed the podium in order to shout the crowd down.

"We are considering all options to deal with the Southside, and thank Clifford for the patience and financial support he has shown us in this endeavor," she said. "I assure you, Alice and Hiram, that the safety of our children is paramount in my mind."

"Oh, if Clifford's paying," Hiram said.

Murmurs and shouts.

"Why, would you rather be the one paying off our municipal government?" Alice shot out.

More murmurs. More shouts.

The meeting did not end so much as it devolved into auditory chaos, helped along by Alice and Hiram. Jughead vanished somewhere in the middle of this, and so he was able to trail Hiram down the Town Hall steps and hear him muttering about how Alice posed more of a problem for their aims than Clifford did.

What are these aims? Jughead thought. But by then the Coopers were dashing by him, and Alice was muttering that Hiram Lodge was planning something, which to Jughead seemed so evident that he couldn't believe she hadn't yet started to compose an article about it. Maybe she had. Alice Cooper always seemed to be composing scathing bits of yellow journalism in her head.

"Mom, I need to find my friends for a sec--" Betty was saying.

"You have one minute, Elizabeth, and then I expect you by the car or I'm coming for you."

Betty seemed to only just keep herself from shuddering at this threat. Jughead shuddered for her. Then he watched as she stood on the Town Hall steps and scanned the crowd, looking for someone.

"Five seasons?" came the incredulous voice of Veronica Lodge. "No, no, Archie Andrews. Outside of Riverdale, I promise you there are only four."

"Right, plus our perfect summer, which makes five," Archie said.

He nearly walked into Betty, and Jughead was surprised to see that she didn't bother to do much more than smile and say hello. Evidently Archie wasn't the person she was looking for.

"B!" Veronica Lodge declared, making a beeline for her and almost knocking Archie over. "Missed you at my little soiree this weekend, but I do understand. How's your sister?"

"Uh, fine, Veronica," Betty said. "Have you guys seen Juggie? I think he's been avoiding me."

He hadn't been. Not any more than usual. It was just that he had no words to explain what he was to her, and he was fearful of how someone as measured, intelligent, and perceptive as Betty Cooper would receive a whole lot of wordless nothing.

But now it seemed she'd taken his silence for indifference. Jughead wanted to kick himself.

"What exactly is a Juggie?" Veronica said now.

"Our friend," Archie put in. "He's kind of a loner, but he's good as gold, Ronnie--"

Jughead snorted.

"Back at you, Arch," he said.

Veronica Lodge looked straight at him. This was briefly disconcerting, but Jughead paid it no mind. He was still in his vanishing. He could tell because Josie McCoy was coming up the steps now with her friends, and they practically walked right into him.

"Maybe we should go to Pop's," Veronica decided. "That is the sole watering hole in this dear little backwater, right? We can toss back some of Archie's beloved egg creams and I can beg you two to assist me with something--"

"I only have a minute," Betty said distractedly. "My mom wants me straight home today after what happened to Polly. And I'm looking for Juggie."

"Well, then let me not keep you," Veronica said, smooth about it. "As you no doubt saw from the display in there--" she fluttered a hand at Town Hall. "--Daddy and Clifford Blossom do not see eye to eye on most things. But Daddy came here to start fresh, so naturally he's trying not to alienate a worthwhile business connection. And the long and the short of this, my darlings, is that I now have an invite to Thornhill, specifically an invite to come and bring friends to cheer up dear grieving Cheryl--"

"You've been invited to Thornhill?" Archie said, face slack with surprise.

"Yes," Veronica said. "Why? Is it creepy? I bet it's creepy. Don't tell me if it's creepy. I'll find out."

Now Betty was focused on her.

"No one's...ever actually been to Thornhill," she said. "Like, ever. The Blossoms don't even invite us there for birthday parties. They hold those in Town Hall. Nobody ever goes to their house."

"Really? Well, I've met Cheryl, so that makes sense," Veronica said. "Please say you'll come and keep me from being stranded all alone in Hill House, B. You too, Archie--"

"And Jughead," Betty said. "Juggie. Our friend. He has to come too."

"When I see a Jughead, I will invite a Jughead," Veronica said obediently. "I die to meet this stalwart fellow musketeer."

"You kind of did," Archie said. "He was the guy who was fighting off the first of these violent Southside junkies last week--"

Archie paused and shivered. And Betty looked bothered by something, probably by the fact that she knew more about the Southside than Archie did, but Polly and Jughead had both asked her to keep it quiet.

Veronica looked, once more, straight at Jughead.

"Is there a joke I'm not in on?" she said.

"Drug addiction is no joke, Veronica," Archie said seriously.

"Nooo," Veronica said slowly. "Your friend Jughead. He's standing right there."

-

So by the end of the next day, after a quick lunch at Pop's, the existence of the Southsiders was common knowledge between the four of them. Jughead wouldn't have included Veronica in the group he wanted to discuss the Southsiders with, but it turned out that Veronica, being born in the city, might be able to see the Southsiders.

"Not that I'd want to see this creepy tweaker shadowtown, girl," she told Jughead, plucking a strawberry from her fruit parfait and bringing it to her lips.

Jughead scowled.

"It's just a town," he said. "A little darker than this one, a little stranger and colder, and from the looks of it with a lot less money, but still just a town--"

"But," Betty said, with an apologetic look at him, "there are these bad things in it. The Ghoulies. Jughead's seen them, and Polly saw them too, though she doesn't want to talk about them or have me tell anybody. There's two gangs down there, Ghoulies and Serpents--"

"The Serpents aren't so bad," Jughead said quickly.

Betty's look of apology deepened, but this didn't keep her from continuing.

"Jason and Polly got caught in some kind of skirmish between them--"

"Between two junkie gangs?" Archie said, eyes wide.

Jughead said, "Okay, they're not junkies--"

"Are you sure? Because I saw the way the one you bought a milkshake for just went twice as crazy as the Sotheby's crowd goes for vintage Lalique," Veronica put in.

"That was because he touched his soulmate, and when he did it messed him up! It showed him everything he's not allowed to have because he lives on the Southside!"

Archie and Veronica stared at him.

"His what?"

Betty dipped her chin, like she was trying to think of how to explain it. Jughead decided to let her explain it. He could already tell that most of this he didn't want to talk about -- FP, for example -- and most of it he wouldn't be able to say right, no matter how many narrative flourishes he might try for.

"Juggie and I think," Betty said carefully, "that there's a -- a connection between our two towns. It seems like, when someone is born here, someone is born over there to match them. And then when someone dies over there, their match dies over here."

Archie's mouth dropped open.

"We're linked to those animals?"

"They're not animals!" Jughead said, exploding.

"No, just your creepy junkie spirit-twins," said Veronica, falling into a dramatic whole-body shudder.

"You might have one too, Ronnie," Archie said, like he was delivering a warning, though he'd only learned about the existence of his own soulmate half a second ago.

"Oh no, girl," Veronica said. "I can tell I don't."

Jughead could tell she didn't, too. He was playing wrong by the rules of Riverdale, and had all his life, but Veronica -- who could see him and had seen Joaquin -- clearly existed above the rules. They simply didn't apply to her. He felt his scowl deepening.

The scowling only got worse as Betty began to describe meeting Toni and Sweet Pea.

She didn't describe it the way he would have. She made it abrupt, rude, uncivilized. Dark. Maybe it had been that. But it was one thing for Jughead to call it dark, because he was dark, too. When Betty and Archie fell to speculating about the Southside, it was like they were discussing a distant planet of potentially savage aliens.

-

Afterwards, Archie offered to take the girls home, but Betty asked him to hold off. She ran after Jughead, who was skulking his way to the Bijou in a foul mood.

Horror-movie possibilities seemed to keep crowding around him.

The Southside being invaded or barricaded. Veronica Lodge. Polly and Jason and FP. Betty knowing he was from the Southside.

"Hey," Betty said. "Jug--"

Jughead whirled around to face her.

"Do me a favor?" he said. "They don't know about--about my dad, the Head Serpent yet. And I know he knows something about Jason going missing. And I will figure it out, I swear--"

Betty shook her head so hard her ponytail started swinging wildly.

"Polly doesn't want me to talk about him."

"Good! Neither do I!"

He didn't wait to see her reaction. He turned on his heel and left.

Chapter Text

It wasn't that he didn't have faith in Archie. It was that Archie always had faith in him. Uncomplicated faith, the kind that simply assumed Jughead was just like him.

Jughead had always known that wasn't true, and Riverdale had always known that wasn't true, but Archie hadn't ever seemed to know it.

Archie came by Pop's the day they were due to go to Thornhill. Pop and Jughead were in the back, where Pop was worriedly adjusting the over-large suit he'd lent Jughead for the occasion.

"I'm giving you this because you said you weren't going to go back there, Juggie," Pop told him. He looked so serious that Jughead felt bad about lying to him. He needed to keep crossing to the Southside before any barricades or raiding parties were instituted. He had some questions for FP.

"Juggie?" Pop said. "You promise?"

"Yeah, sure, Pop," Jughead said. "No Southside. Got it."

Of course this was the moment Archie's shadow darkened the doorway.

"You've been heading to the Southside?" he asked incredulously. "After everything we talked about? Dude, why?"

Pop tutted as he finished sewing in a few quick stitches meant to keep Jughead's pants from falling down. As added insurance, Jughead clipped on his suspenders and pulled them over his shoulders, then shrugged on the baggy blazer Pop held out to him. He also considered climbing into the meat patty freezer if it meant getting out of having another conversation about the Southside with Archie.

"You can't go to the Southside," Archie said mulishly, as they left the diner and started for Veronica's address. Veronica and her parents were already at Thornhill, but she had arranged for one of her chauffeurs (naturally she had chauffeurs) to take the others over.

"Dude, I am a lot safer on the Southside than anybody else is," Jughead said. "At least I can see the Southside coming."

Archie frowned. His frowns were always the first signs of a bigger storm, threatening catastrophe if you didn't close the shutters and stack your sandbags properly.

"It's not a big deal--" Jughead tried.

"Jason and Polly got attacked!"

"Look," Jughead said, switching tactics, "I'm one of the ones that brought Polly back. Maybe I can be the one to find Jason. If I hadn't gone in there with Betty--"

"You shouldn't have brought Betty there."

"She asked me to!" Jughead said.

It wasn't like he would have done it if she hadn't made up her mind, and if she hadn't been dangling the implicit threat of getting Archie to accompany her in, which would have put Archie in danger too.

Archie said nothing now. In response, Jughead also said nothing. Nothing put the ball in his court. He could keep nothing going for a lot longer than Archie could.

"Listen," Archie said finally, fiddling with his bowtie. "I know what people say about you, Jughead. That you're from the Southside. And you're not. Pop always said you were born right here in Riverdale. This is where you grew up, where your friends are--"

One friend. Maybe two.

"--so I know I haven't been around as much lately, with football and stuff, but when I hear people say that stuff, I correct them."

Jughead briefly stopped. Closed his eyes.

God, the eye of the storm was always the worst with Archie. Archie could hurt you without hurting you at all.

When he opened his eyes, they were standing in front of the pharmacy on Main Street. He and Archie were reflected in the windows. The late afternoon sunshine caught innumerable shades of red in Archie's hair. His suit fit. Football had chiseled him to a degree that Jughead found frankly astonishing. No wonder he vanished when Archie and Betty were too close together. Vanishing was better than being slightly jealous of the both of them.

"I appreciate it," Jughead told Archie's expectant gaze, and meant it.

He started walking again. Archie trailed him doggedly.

"So you won't go, right?" he said. "Because, Jughead, my dad always said that place -- it's like our town's dark side. And if what you see in it is real, then it really is that."

"Dark sides," Jughead told him, "are where we keep the moon. And bats, dude. And all the great impulses that get shoved into Argento and Cronenberg and Hitchcock."

That was the best Archie was going to get out of him for now, and apparently even Archie knew it, because he subsided, looking a little hurt.

When they reached the stately building where Veronica lived, they found Betty waiting for them. Kevin Keller too, since he had apparently also been invited. This was, in retrospect, unsurprising, since Joaquin had made Kevin a minor local celebrity, the first Riverdale teen to tangle with one of the dangerous Southside attackers and make it out unscathed. His own father had questioned him about it, though Jughead bet Sheriff Keller had been a lot nicer than he'd been when questioning the former child arsonist.

"Archie, hey!" Kevin said. "Jughead! Hey. Dressed-up, huh?"

Jughead shrugged. Kevin nodded amiably in response, like a shrug was about what he expected, and as if to show that he took no offense at the shrug. But after that he didn't say much else to Jughead. Instead, he, Betty, and Archie filled the car ride to Thornhill with speculation about whether the Vixens would be allowed to host a cheer meet and when they could expect the next youth concert.

All chatter died down when they arrived at Thornhill.

It was cold. So cold it bit their skin. Betty stepped out of the car first and sank her strappy sandal into a crust of hardening snow. She wobbled out, gasping at the sensation, and then it was the boys' turn. None of them had worn appropriate footwear, or in fact appropriate anything.

"Oh god," Kevin said, at the grey sky, at the bare black trees, at the frozen rosebuds creeping ornamentally over the graves in a nearby cemetery. "Oh my god. Nobody warned me about this."

Thornhill's huge front doors creaked open dramatically. Cheryl Blossom was silhouetted inside. She also did not appear to be dressed for the weather, if you went by her hemline, low-cut blouse, and bare arms, but she was still probably warmer than they were. The light of several candelabras and chandeliers illuminated her long red hair, turning it into a blaze. She rolled her eyes at them as they hopped through the snow.

"Where did you think the winter went?" she said.

Then, almost as an afterthought, "Welcome to Thornhill."

-

It was hard to tell whether Cheryl Blossom was above the terrible cold of Thornhill, or simply so used to it that she'd forgotten what it felt like to other people. She sat and pushed her ham around her plate, sullen, for most of the dinner.

"Interesting, Clifford, how you persist in living so far above the town despite the...quirks of the weather here," Hiram Lodge told her father.

"The maple thrives in cold," Clifford replied, robotic in tone.

"And I'd prefer a calm, quiet cold to the chaotic whispers of your enemies in the city, Hiram," put in Penelope Blossom.

"Well, that's just because you're fortunate enough to be so provincial that hardly anybody bothers to antagonize you," said Hermione Lodge.

Penelope visibly bristled. Clifford didn't. Clifford wasn't made for bristling. He was made for dead stares. He seemed to look through everyone. When Jughead had been introduced to him, he might have been in the middle of a vanishing for all the attention Clifford paid to him.

Now Clifford said, "What's better than a quiet spot where one's family can reign, peacefully, for generations?"

"Not this moment, that's for sure," Cheryl muttered.

"Do you have something you need to say, Cheryl?" her mother snapped, in a much louder register than the situation required.

Everyone looked at Cheryl. Cheryl looked at her plate.

"No," she said tonelessly.

The adults returned to swiping at each other. Kevin, Betty, Archie, Jughead, and Veronica exchanged a full circle of horrified looks. Cheryl did not invite herself into the circle. Cheryl was frozen with un-reaction, like a hostage.

This made it disconcerting when, after the adults had retired to the study and all the teens were ushered into the games room, Cheryl turned her poison poppy smile on all of them.

"Well," she said. "When mommy had the idea to have you invite some classmates to cheer me up, I didn't think you'd bring all the Bad News Bears, Veronica."

Veronica looked at her, then looked at the rest of them.

"That was a quick return to unsheathed claws," she said, with deliberate mildness.

Cheryl's smile was still in place.

"Indeed," she said. "Betty. Would you like to see our conservatory?"

Betty stepped forward, looking like an innocent person picked out of a police lineup.

"Sure?" she said. "Wait. Me?"

"As you are Alice Cooper's daughter, I have some faith that you will have been drilled in at least the most rudimentary rules of etiquette, unlike the children of a criminal, a carpenter, a civil servant, and--" Cheryl raked her large dark eyes over Jughead and adjusted her smile to a grimace, "--whatever Jughead is."

"Hey," Archie said, warning in his tone, as Betty said, "Cheryl!"

"I don't need to see whatever man-eating flytraps they keep here, honestly," Kevin put in.

Cheryl shrugged back and floated past him to the door. "Whatever. Coming, Betty?"

Betty shot them all a glance that had some apology in it, but not enough to keep her from walking after Cheryl.

I want to ask her about Jason, she mouthed back at the group, when she was at the door.

"Do stop making plans to interrogate me, Betty," came Cheryl's voice from the hallway. "It's tasteless. And close the door behind you or the heat will escape. And, as for the rest of you, mind Nana."

Betty left, pulling the door closed behind her and revealing an ancient mummy wrapped in several shawls, dozing in a wheelchair. Archie, Kevin, and Jughead all jumped. Veronica didn't, revealing absolute nerves of steel.

She did, however, throw herself on a nearby divan.

"Well, this is ghastly," she announced. Archie crouched near her, looking at the room like he wondered if it was going to start attacking him. Kevin took the divan furthest from Nana.

"I lied," he said sadly, shaking his head. "I do want to see the man-eating flytraps."

"Was Cheryl not enough?" Veronica asked, but then paused, as though she were annoyed with herself for the comment.

"What are your dad and Clifford discussing, Ronnie?" Archie asked.

"Oh, just business, boys," Veronica said, as though this revealed anything.

Jughead quietly shifted away. It was a large room, and worth exploring, cataloguing. The huge fireplace, large enough for him to step into, with a roaring fire in it to drive away the cold. The weird depictions in the coffered ceiling -- the founding of the town, it looked like, first by some Blossom finding a tree, then by more people arriving, then by the laying of the railway, then some kind of fair arriving. Pictures on the walls. Blossoms standing by maple trees, Blossoms conquering maple stumps, Blossoms silhouetted against a backdrop that seemed vaguely familiar for some reason.

He was examining this when Archie said, loudly, "Hey, where'd Juggie go?"

"He's right there, " Veronica reported, "doing his invisibility trick. As for me, I need to powder my nose, so I think I'll do the same."

She smiled at them, then rose and went to the door. The action seemed prettily sneaky, somehow. When she slipped out of the room, he followed.

"I know eavesdropping is your thing, but don't get in my way, Space Ghost," Veronica said over her shoulder. "This is Lodge business, I'm afraid."

She started down the hallway. Jughead followed, hands in his pockets. They didn't speak until they passed a wide wooden door with a rose carved into it. Betty's voice, uncharacteristically loud, floated out.

"Cheryl, why are you asking me so many questions about Polly?"

"Oh my god, poor B," Veronica noted. "She went in for an interrogation, but Cheryl is interrogating her right back."

"Cheryl has a lot more to hide than Betty does," Jughead said. For some reason, the thought of Cheryl and Betty behaving in the same way bothered him. For all that Betty had said they were cousins, Jughead had always slotted her into a completely different universe than the one he reserved for Cheryl. Thornhill seemed to be proving him right about that, too.

Veronica fluttered her fingers at him like he'd missed the point completely.

"You don't have to tell me that," she said. "Between the missing brother and mommie dearest and the Addams family mansion, for once even Veronica Lodge is stumped."

They passed a huge bay window, hung with black velvet curtains. Through it, they could see all the way down to Riverdale and even beyond it, to the formless mist-shrouded smudge of the Southside. Oddly, Riverdale from here looked nothing like Riverdale did up close. From here, the golden sunshine took on a sickly hue. The town looked like it was struggling beneath it somehow, like the buildings and tiny cars and tinier people would dry out in the heat, wither like grass without enough water.

Jughead paused and drank it in.

"That's what she sees," he realized. "What Jason saw, too."

"Who?" said Veronica. "Oh, Cheryl. Listen, I've got an even bigger mystery than that on my hands."

Carefully, she crept towards the door at the end of the hall. Curlicue carved script above the lintel proclaimed it the study, because the Blossoms thought subtlety was something you set hounds on in order to see it torn to shreds. Veronica pressed her ear to the door. After a few seconds, she made a face.

Jughead could have told her that wasn't the way to do it. A lifetime of loitering outside the Mayor's office, trying to hear what they were going to do with him, had taught him that grates and keyholes were better. Open transoms, too, if they existed and you could reach them.

There was no transom here, but a small ventilation grate was set in the floor by the door. Jughead kneeled, putting his ear to the intricate metalwork. Veronica patted the knees of her tights like she wished she could defend the silky material from the floor somehow, then mirrored his actions. Her loose pearl bracelet tapped against the floor as she leaned over and put her hands and right ear to the other side of the grate. Voices came through, muffled and in patches, but not completely inaudible.

"--undo the bargain," Hiram Lodge was saying. "Isn't that -- wanted?"

"-- the generational extortion your family -- happy to consider proposals," came Clifford's stiffer tones.

"--Southside," Hiram said.

Jughead felt his eyebrows creeping up along his face. Veronica was mirroring this action.

Daddy wants to buy shadowtown? she mouthed.

But apparently a sale wasn't even what Hiram was proposing.

Now Penelope spoke up. "--should we give -- for free, especially now -- missing--"

"Oh, please--" put in Hermione Lodge. "--company town? What company? The need for -- long ago."

"---Jason!" said Penelope, plainly agitated. They heard her heels clicking across the floor, coming closer to them. They reeled back from the grate. Veronica's dark eyes were wide and panicked. Jughead grasped her by the arm and pulled her back along the hall. They were passing the conservatory when Penelope burst through, her mouth thin with rage.

"You," she snarled at Veronica. "You little minx. Coming to eavesdrop on your elders, merely to add insult to injury?"

She strode determinedly to Veronica, looking for all the world like she would grab her and shake her, but stopped just short, fingers curling in on themselves. Veronica looked sideways at Jughead, as though clamoring for a rescue.

"Well?" Penelope demanded. "What are you doing wandering around our home?"

Jughead slid over to the bay window behind Penelope and, with some effort, wrenched it open. A freezing wind invited itself in, tormenting the candles and making the chandeliers swing.

"I was just closing the window," Veronica said, quick on the uptake. "We can even feel the chill in the study."

Penelope whirled on the window so fast that she almost knocked Veronica over. Veronica's bracelet even slipped off her wrist with the action. She blinked, looking stunned at this for a moment, before she moved to retrieve it.

"Who opened this?" Penelope was demanding, in the meantime. "Cheryl? Was it you? You know we have to keep the cold at bay!"

By now all the doors were opening. Cheryl, Betty, Archie, Kevin, Clifford, and the Lodges piled into the hallway. Hiram's handsome face darkened when he saw Penelope standing so close to Veronica.

"Careful now, winter witch," he said. "You wouldn't want me to raise the price on our proposed arrangement."

Penelope's face was full of incalculable malice. She opened her mouth to retort. Before she could, there was a pounding on the front door.

"Mr. Blossom?" came a gruff voice. It was familiar, but Jughead didn't recognize it at first.

"That's my dad," Kevin said.

Everyone moved at once to the grand stair, then down to the front hall. Clifford wrenched the door open.

Sheriff Keller and his deputies dropped a man on the entry carpet. He was wet, shivering, without his jacket, and handcuffed. But Jughead still recognized him. FP's dark eyes found Jughead, too.

"Don't think we'll need to head into that cursed place," Sheriff Keller said, sounding satisfied. "Found Jason's killer right here, creeping around where he shouldn't be."

"And you brought him to the Blossoms?" Betty asked, just as Jughead said, "Why do you think he's the killer?"

His voice was high and frantic, but nobody seemed to hear him but Veronica, who shot him a strange look.

Cheryl, however, asked almost the same question he did, half-a-second after he finished asking it.

Triumphant, the Sheriff held up a bundle of fabric. It appeared to be soaking wet, so the blue looked black and the gold had gone dun. It was Jason's varsity jacket. Penelope Blossom gave a shriek and was on FP in an instant, scratching and screaming. The sheriff, Archie, and two deputies had to haul her off.

Jughead backed against the wall of the landing, shaking his head.

FP hadn't done it. FP had said he hadn't done it.

He didn't even realize he had spoken aloud until Veronica began to shake her head at him. But by then it was too late.

He couldn't control when he vanished. He couldn't control when he reappeared, either. And at some point in the past few seconds he'd come back, so everyone had heard what he'd just said.

FP's gaze was anguished.

"FP?" the sheriff put in. "Is that his name? How do you even know him, boy?"

Now everyone was staring at him. Jughead felt all his words catch in his throat. The cold blew in through the open front doors, chilling them all, and his jacket wasn't enough to save him from it.

Chapter Text

Jughead waited in the interrogation room.

This time, he was older than ten. And he'd been to juvie, where he'd heard from the other boys what the magic words were -- life's real magic words.

I want a lawyer.

He wondered if FP knew those. He wondered if FP really had killed Jason. FP was capable of great violence. At most he'd only ever been petulant and bitter and careless with Jughead himself, but the memory of FP fighting the Ghoulies was always there. Jughead had just buried it deep in order to know his father better, the same way he swallowed his fear and replaced it with obsessive devotion any time he showcased Maniac, Poltergeist, or The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. The way to stop fearing a monster was to adopt it, to make it your own.

He didn't tell Sheriff Keller anything. So they brought in the Mayor, who was shrill and full of lots of synonyms for the word 'ungrateful.' Jughead didn't tell her anything either. So then they brought in Archie's father, which meant Archie was around somewhere. Jughead couldn't figure out if that was comforting or not.

All Jughead told Fred was, "I need a lawyer, Mr. Andrews. And you should probably get one for that other guy, too."

Fred looked at him, disappointed.

"I think he has to ask for one himself, Jug," he said, which told Jughead that FP hadn't yet. But of course FP hadn't. Maybe FP didn't even know what lawyers were. The Southside had no court system, no laws, no rules to fall afoul of. The only rule was Serpents versus Ghoulies. FP might be a monster, but on the Northside he was a monster adrift, somehow more pitiful than frightening.

At night they were put in separate cells, opposite each other. Jughead wasn't sure what they were holding him on. Archie's mother was the only lawyer in town and she'd been assigned to FP. They'd be bringing in someone from the city for him.

When the deputy who was watching them shuffled out of the room without explanation, looking bored, FP curled his fingers around the bars of his cell.

"They listening in?" he said.

Jughead sat up on his cot.

"I don't know," he said, bewildered.

FP grimaced.

"Tell them you saw me bring the girl back," he said. "That's what they want, Jughead. They want information. They want a reason to get rid of me. Stands to reason that's what they want. No one likes looking too hard at what they'd just as soon throw away. They'd rather tie stones to it and throw it in the river."

Jughead blinked at him.

"Is that what you did to Jason?"

For a second, FP looked hurt. But then something in his face shifted, becoming almost degenerate.

"If you knew what I'd done to that boy," he said, voice low. "It would make your hair stand on end, Jughead."

Jughead inhaled, trying to get air. For some reason he could hardly get air. And he felt like he was trembling, colder than ever. While FP -- FP didn't tremble at all.

"Why?" Jughead managed, after a few seconds.

"Why'd I do away with him?" FP said. "Why not? I'm bad, Jughead. No point feeling sorry about it, either, because I can't help it."

His teeth flashed perversely white in the gloom of the cellblock.

"That's the damn truth of it. Why not?" he said again. "Why not strike back at these Northsiders? Coming onto our turf, making demands. When they have everything, and we have nothing. You know--"

One of his hands ventured out beyond the bars, began to gesticulate deliberately.

"--we can't even touch them, Jughead. You know what the penalty is for trying to find your soulmate, trying to ask that they give you a little -- just a little -- bit of what they've got? Money. Support. Comfort. Summer. Light, goddamit. It makes you crazy. You realize what you don't have. While they get a good look at you for once, and they just turn up their noses. I met mine once, Jughead. He was willing to help me as long as it didn't put him out. That's the truth about them. So what if I wanted to hurt one? They've hurt me."

Jughead recoiled, his back hitting the wall.

"You're no better than a Ghoulie," he found himself saying. His eyes were wet. This was stupid, because it wasn't like FP had ever merited the slightest bit of faith.

FP's hand hung limp between the cells for a moment. Then he pulled it back in.

"Yeah, well. Never pretended to be otherwise," he said. "Gave you a chance to cut ties with me, didn't I? When I left you here."

Now the hand came back, a finger jabbing accusingly in Jughead's direction.

"Tell them what kind of man I am, boy. Go on. Tell them. Then get out of here, Jughead, and don't look back."

Jughead pawed at his cheeks to wipe away evidence of the tear tracks. It took a second of hating everything about himself and FP to process what FP wanted from him. Jughead gone. That was like pulling in a fishing net and finding it full of dry, mooing cows. FP hardly ever wanted Jughead gone. Every emotion FP ever tossed on Jughead, from plaintive excuses to anger to cajoling desperation -- they were usually to get Jughead to stay.

Only when the Ghoulies were punching through the pavement, only when there was a death by Fox Forest. Only then had FP ever shown his snarling, ugly insides like this. And they'd always been less dry, less cool than this. More bitter and pathetic, masking some horrible fright. FP was something Jughead didn't want to examine too closely, maybe. But he wasn't some calculated killer. He wasn't collected enough to declare his badness. His badness had to erupt out of him, spasms of senseless cruelty that he appeared barely capable of controlling.

Jughead moved to the edge of his cell, right up against his own bars, trying to get a better look at his father.

"You didn't do it," he said. "You didn't."

FP jerked back. There was something desperate in his gaze now. Jughead took it as confirmation.

-

After that, no matter how much FP pleaded and bullied, snarled and made scenes, Jughead knew the truth. He had a little core of the truth. FP was suspicious but not. Jughead thought, murderous. That was enough to get him to curl up on his side and try to sleep, defiant and knowing.

But Riverdale's eternal summer meant short nights. He felt like he'd barely closed his eyes when the deputies returned and pulled him out of his cell. FP was up against the bars of his own in an instant, demanding to know where they were taking Jughead. No one answered him.

Jughead thought he'd be talking to the sheriff again, or to his lawyer, finally. In the hall, he passed three forms slumped on a bench -- Archie, Betty, Veronica -- and they made him feel briefly hopeful. But the deputies made him walk right past them. Veronica opened her eyes first, looking annoyed, and then jostled the others awake. Archie was up in a flash.

"Jughead!" he yelled, as Jughead was marched down the hall. "Jughead!"

This was a useless gesture, but it reached the loneliest corner of Jughead anyway, the corner that had always been most grateful to have Archie in his life.

In the interrogation room, Clifford Blossom was waiting for him. He turned jerkily in his seat and watched as the deputies cuffed Jughead to the table. Jughead stared at him, confused.

"My family were once the magistrates of this town," Clifford said. "Judges. Mayors. Lords of this little patch of--"

A pause.

"--heaven."

Clifford shifted in his seat, like he was considering something. Jughead let him consider. It wasn't like Jughead could stop him. Clifford Blossom was untouchable and they both knew it. The Blossoms had owned Riverdale before the town had a name, before anyone had known there could be more to this bend of the Sweetwater than miles and miles of wild maple woods.

Of course, Jason had seemed untouchable too. Relative to Jughead, everyone seemed untouchable. There was always a barrier up. Now nothing but a small metal table separated him from Clifford, but still the enormity of the distance between them made Jughead catch his breath.

Clifford didn't even bother to watch him while he did this. Jason had sometimes seemed to be looking at Jughead out of the corner of his eye, ever since that day they'd hauled him over the railroad tracks. But Clifford was not like his son in this regard. He knew Jughead was inconsequential.

"That man," he said eventually. "Do you think he killed my son?"

"No," Jughead said. The word came quick, resolute. It was the surest thing in Jughead's world right now.

Clifford looked at him, but he was hardly looking at him. He was looking at something small, the kind of thing that scurried in grass and that you might kill by accident. Jughead's turn to shift in his seat, this time with a frantic rage and despair.

"He didn't do it," he said. "He didn't. If you give me some time, maybe I can figure out who did--"

"Do you think my son is dead?" Clifford asked stiffly.

That was the question. Jughead had assumed. He knew what the Ghoulies wanted to do to Northside boys like Jason.

"I think he's at least in danger," he said, after a minute.

Clifford examined the thing in the grass.

"The Southside," he said, "is not a place any decent child should go."

Something in Jughead rebelled at this. Oddly, it wasn't decent child that made him rebel.

"The Southside's just a place," he told Clifford. "Like any other. It doesn't need to be invaded or barricaded--"

Alright, maybe the Ghoulies needed to be barricaded. But then it wasn't like they were coming through to the Northside. As far as Jughead could tell, the Serpents managed to keep them in line.

"--that guy you have in there," Jughead tried, using his free hand to gesture towards the doors, towards the cells that lay beyond them. "He might even have been helping this town, you know? I mean, there are dark things in the Southside, and maybe Jason walked into them--"

"Maybe he did," Clifford offered.

"--but there's less dark things there, too," Jughead said desperately. "I could tell everybody what's there, if you want. I've been there. And if you got people to listen, maybe I could help with a search party for Jason--"

"I have a different offer for you," Clifford said.

Now he was looking at Jughead like he knew what Jughead was. It felt like ice dropped down the back of Jughead's shirt. Jughead shivered without meaning to.

-

Like his son, Clifford had plenty of men to help him handle Jughead. This time, Sheriff Keller and two faceless deputies.

The Sheriff, to his credit, thought Clifford was going about things the wrong way. So did Mayor McCoy, who squeezed her way into the back of Clifford's limousine between Jughead and the window, insisting that sending in a search party of strong, armed men was a better solution. More decisive and powerful. More likely to gain the approval of the town.

"Plus, you won't be sending off a teenage boy," said Sheriff Keller. "I don't care how much of a delinquent he is. I doubt he'll be able to find anything, and it's just a bad plan."

"He assures me he knows the Southside well," Clifford said tonelessly. "Don't you, Mr. Jones?"

Jughead nodded. He nodded because it was true, and also because that kept him from retching all over his knees. Not that he had much to retch. He hadn't eaten since Thornhill.

"He is technically a ward of the town," noted Mayor McCoy. She said this like it was a character flaw Jughead had never quite seen fit to correct.

"And I am Chief Alderman of the Town Council," Clifford said. "Besides which, if I want to employ Jones to do a task for me on my own land, I certainly can."

There was a jolt, then another, as the limousine passed over the tracks. When Mayor McCoy realized that they'd crossed into the Southside she began to screech her protest, but the car stopped so soon after the crossing that she only sounded a little ridiculous.

"Your land?" Sheriff Keller said.

"Clifford owns the Southside," Mayor McCoy snapped. "Which is no cause for him to force me to come here--"

"It used to be our little company town," Clifford said. "Built for our workers. A Blossom act of charity, gentlemen."

His driver got out and opened the passenger-side door. Clifford waved at the deputies.

They dumped Jughead out into the fog. Clifford, the Sheriff, and a complaining Mayor stepped out after him. Jughead blinked and found that he wasn't all that cold, which was surprising because he was still wearing the thin, oversized black suit Pop had given him. Thinking of Pop made his heart squeeze. He wondered what they would tell Pop. What they'd tell Archie and Betty.

When a pair of shiny red bicycles skittered over the tracks, he thought he was hallucinating it.

"What are you doing?" Archie was shouting. He let his bicycle fall to the side and rushed to help Jughead up. Betty was more careful, but then she was balancing Veronica on her handlebars.

"This is not due process," Betty said loudly, with the outraged confidence of someone who had never before had to be frightened of the town's authority figures.

"And what will you do?" the Mayor said, looking down her nose at Betty. "Publish it in your school paper? Tell it to your parents?"

"Actually, yes!" Betty snapped.

"What's even going on?" Archie said. He had put himself between Jughead and the deputies, just a solid wall of Archie. Jughead reached out a hand to tell him to back down, but then couldn't make the action quite work. He didn't want Archie to back down. He wanted Archie to invite him home, the way Archie always did, and he wanted this time to be able to accept the offer.

"Even your parents," Clifford said scornfully, addressing Betty now, "could find nothing dubious in a man hiring one of the town's more unfortunate citizens to do some investigative work for him."

Archie, Betty, and Veronica stared at Jughead. Jughead swallowed hard. In the time it took him to arrange his thoughts into words, Mayor McCoy put in, "I'm sure Jughead Jones is not your sort of person anyway, Ms. Lodge. He's a nice enough boy, but I wish you'd try to get to know my Josie."

Veronica stared at her.

"Does this town not do tact?" she demanded. The way she said it somehow erased the fact that it was a bit tactless. But the Mayor still looked offended.

"Jones," Clifford said now, in a warning tone.

Jughead stepped out from behind Archie.

"You're not going to send search parties into the Southside," he said to Clifford. "And she's--" he pointed the Mayor "--not going to put up barricades. And none of you is going to do anything to that man Sheriff Keller's holding."

"For now," Clifford noted. "My patience is not limitless. You have a month."

"A month for what?" Betty demanded.

"To find Jason," Jughead said.

Clifford nodded, the action appearing mechanical. Clifford had no internal life, Jughead realized. He probably thought about things, naturally, and he clearly understood his place in the world. But nothing in him was given to introspection, to trying to understand why he existed or how to exist better. He just seemed to be acting the role of a human. Jughead had always been accused of acting more human than he was, but this was the first time he'd ever seen someone who was actually like this.

"Don't bother crossing the tracks until you can deliver my son to me, Jones," Clifford said.

He waved at the deputies. One of them shoved Jughead forward, away from his friends. Jughead heard Archie and Betty protesting.

"It's okay," he told them loudly. "I'll be okay."

He would fit in fine here, probably. He knew to avoid the Ghoulies. He knew where he could stay for a bit, a sort of halfway-house, while he questioned the Serpents about Jason.

He put one foot in front of the other, and kept doing that until he heard their voices fall away, until all around him it was autumnal, dilapidated, and dark.

At the corner of Olin Avenue, headlights shone through the fog.

"Hey, Teen Genius," came a friendly voice.

It was the blonde Serpent, leaning forward on her bike.

"You know, I heard your dad was gonna try to make an exchange," she said. "I did not think it would be for you."

Chapter Text

Archie Andrews took the matter up with his father, who only said, "Arch, Jughead should have known better than to take that deal. I swear, managing that boy is a full-time task."

Betty Cooper took it up with her parents, her school principal, and the Mayor. Her mother laughed for five minutes straight at the thought of defending Jughead in the Register. Her school principal threatened to take away Betty's Blue & Gold platform if she riled up the student body. And the Mayor, planning a summertime concert, said, "I do not have to look after townsfolk when they are no longer townsfolk because they have been banished, Ms. Cooper."

Betty later texted this to Archie with trembling, furious fingers.

BANISHED, Arch!
BANISHED
BANISHED

And so on, until Archie texted back:

got it betty coming over rn

He found Betty pacing and making decisive hand gestures. She was determined to solve the problem, but not sure of where to look first. She felt like a burst of angry energy in a pink sweater.

Archie sat on her bed and watched her, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Who sends a teenaged boy to look for their missing son?" Betty demanded.

Her ponytail whipped around as she paced. When she got near her window, her face darkened. Partly because she found that she didn't want to look out at cheery, sunny Elm Street today. And partly because it was darker there for some reason, a shadow reaching in over the windowseat.

Archie hoped she would decide something that might lift the darkness in her face. She did decide something, but it did not lift her at all.

"There is no way a single teenager stranded in a mysterious ghost town is going to be able to bring Clifford Blossom his son back," she said slowly.

"You don't think Clifford really wants to find Jason?" Archie guessed. This was a conclusion that made little sense to him, because Archie couldn't envision a world where fathers didn't love their sons best of all, but he knew he was right when Betty's answer exploded out of her.

"Of course not!" she said. "Polly said Jason was in danger from his parents. Jug might have been able to lead people to find Jason, so--"

"So that's why Clifford banished him," Archie said.

Betty nodded furiously.

"I am going to expose him,' she told Archie. "He can't get away with doing this to Polly and now Jughead."

"Not to mention Jason," Archie put in.

Betty waved him off.

"If I just had some place to start..."

She was back to hand gestures. Archie tried to think of ways to be useful.

"What about that guy, Betty?"

Betty turned to him. She wanted him to be more specific. Her expression made this demand for her.

"Down at the Sheriff's station," Archie said.

Betty stared at him, triumph illuminating her face like a lantern. Triumph for him, and for her too.

"Archie, that's it!" she said. "That man -- do you know who I think that is? I think that's his--"

She broke off. She'd paced her way to her dresser and back to the window and back to the dresser and now back to the window again, where she proceeded to sit and look inexplicably concerned about something. After a few seconds, she opened the window. That odd wayward shadow slipped inside. Archie saw it happen and noted that it was strange, but to him Betty attempting to preoccupy herself with the window was stranger.

"His what?" Archie said. "His friend?"

Betty turned to him, resolving something.

"I'm not supposed to be telling you this," she said, every word dropped into the room with great care. "Jughead asked me not to. But, Archie, did you know that he's from the Southside? I think that Southsider is his dad."

For a very long second, silence reigned between them. To Archie it felt somehow dark and gloomy. Silence was Jughead's territory -- Jughead could say things with pauses and silent, nervy looks that Archie thought nobody else could -- and now it was like Jughead was in the room subjecting him to this.

Then it was Archie's turn to explode a little.

"Did he tell you that? Does he really believe that? After everything Pop and I told him?"

Betty wrung her hands.

"I don't know, Arch--"

Archie stood, heading for the door.

"We are going to talk to that guy," he told Betty mulishly. "And he's not gonna feed us some made-up story like he probably fed Jughead--"

"But we don't know, Arch--"

But Archie was thundering down the stairs. Betty followed, and then followed him out the front door onto the street. The shadow followed too, with jerkier movements. Archie was heading in the direction of the sheriff's office and he and Betty cleared two blocks before she noticed the odd thing tangling with her own shadow, looking for all the world like it had its hands jammed in its shadow pockets.

"Archie?"

"No, listen," Archie said, slowing down enough to look at her with a kind of bewildered anger. "He grew up here, with us--"

"I know!" Betty said. "But look!"

They stopped. The wayward shadow walked on a little bit and then also stopped, like it was waiting for them. They stared at it, both of them familiar with its lanky, slouching contours.

It raised a hand. To its mouth, maybe, not that they could see the mouth. But they knew the gesture, with that puzzling shifting of the fingers before it closed it into a fist.

"Juggie?" Archie said.

-

Several Town Hall meetings were called. Or perhaps just one, extended over several nights. No one could seem to reach a resolution and the Mayor kept calling for a recess when it became dark.

They were not discussing the wayward shadow, since most of the townsfolk didn't know about it. They were discussing the man in the holding pens. Like his son before him, FP simultaneously repulsed and electrified the town. The Sheriff was becoming annoyed at everyone who snuck in to look at him, though he did little to stop them. Somehow public opinion, pinned to no particular facts, and carefully fed by Alice Cooper and Hiram Lodge and the Mayor and the Sheriff himself, determined three things:

1. This was a genuine Southsider. An oddly real one, a corporeal person who had come out of the mist and perhaps been there all along.

2. This man had almost certainly killed Jason Blossom.

3. His chief value was educational. Like a cobra in a tank, he reminded them that there was danger out in foreign climes. That the town needed to arm itself against that danger. That one could admire exoticism and evil, and how the two invariably came hand in hand, but at the end of the day, they needed to stand tall for Riverdale values.

Alice Cooper was still calling for a barricade. Hiram Lodge was still calling for a raiding party.

"It's not like you to take the less aggressive stance, Alice," Hiram noted coolly, on the third night they subjected the town to their endless debate.

"Well, it's exactly like you to propose that everyone risk their necks to satisfy your shadowy aims," Alice snapped.

"Order!" called the Mayor. "Order! We simply cannot decide this tonight, I think. Everyone, go home. We reconvene tomorrow."

In the front row, Clifford Blossom dipped his chin slightly. He'd promised Jughead Jones a month. For now, he intended to keep the promise. For now. And so the Mayor would have to buy time.

The Mayor, for her part, had intended to cut the meeting short for just this reason. But what had really triggered her was Alice's suggestion that shadows had entered Riverdale. Shadows were not supposed to just enter Riverdale. Riverdale had always been designed to keep the shadows out.

While all this was happening, Veronica Lodge and Kevin Keller slipped into the sheriff's station. Kevin came with a kind of put-on reluctance, stressing that his father absolutely could not find out, but also pointing Veronica to where the Sheriff kept the keys to the cellblock.

Archie and Betty were already there. Betty was picking the lock on Sheriff Keller's desk drawer,

"The keys are actually in the cupboard over there," Kevin said, nodding a little mechanically at this scene, like he didn't know what to make of it.

Betty shot up and whirled around. So did Archie.

"Veronica?" Archie said.

"Betty?" said Veronica, looking delightedly scandalized.

"Archie," Betty said, waving him in the direction of the shadow lurking in the corner, inconveniently illuminated by Sheriff Keller's desk lamp.

"Kevin," Kevin said, mostly just to have someone say his name.

"What are you guys doing here?" Betty said, trying to look like she hadn't been breaking and entering. She was succeeding, mostly because, with her huge eyes, neat ponytail, and conservative crewneck sweater, she did not look like the kind of girl who would break or enter.

"We were--" Kevin began. He broke off and looked to Veronica. "What were we doing, Ronnie?"

"Breaking in, the same as you," Veronica said unrepentantly. "I assume you have your reasons for wanting to talk to this 'Southsider'--" they could all hear the quotes she seemed to throw around the term. "--and, well, I have mine."

"I heard he's hot in a deplorable gangster way," Kevin put in cheerfully.

"He's not hot," Archie said, from where he was standing guard over the shadow so that no one would see it. "He's twisted! You know he's been playing mindgames with Jughead?"

"Well, someone can be hot and play mindgames," Kevin said, sounding a little offended at how swiftly Archie seemed to want to dash his hopes.

"Okay," Betty said, taking charge. "Archie and I have some questions to ask him, so we'll go in first--"

"Hang on. So do I," said Veronica. "And I want to be done with mine before my parents get home."

"So do I," Betty retorted.

"Well, it's not like your questions are more important than mine," said Veronica.

Betty regarded Veronica. Veronica regarded Betty. The boys regarded them, then each other, uneasy and unsure of whether they should start arguing, too.

Both Betty and Veronica went for the cupboard at once. Kevin beat them to the keys, though, because he actually knew what shelf they were located on, and then he led everyone in a scramble down the hall to the cellblock, urged on by both Betty and Veronica.

"I don't know what side I'm on!" he admitted, as he unlocked the door. All four of them tumbled into the cellblock at once. The shadow followed after, but it was so dark here that now no one could see it.

In the cell to the left, FP straightened up a little. This was the only indication he gave that he'd even noticed the four of them. They stared at him. He was attractive in a deplorable gangster way, but only Kevin noticed and Kevin just sighed at it, because he realized that no one here would appreciate him pointing this out.

"Tell me something. Sheriff charging five bucks a viewing yet? He could make a killing," FP said, after a few minutes.

All four reeled back for a second, as though surprised that he could speak. Veronica was the first to collect herself.

"What does my father want with the Southside?" she demanded.

FP blinked at her.

"I don't know," he said, furrowing his brow. "Didn't think anybody wanted us. Who's your father?"

"Oh no, girl," Veronica said, "I'm asking the questions here."

FP looked briefly thrown, like Veronica was breaking all the rules of human conduct, which struck everyone else as odd because he was the one in a cell.

"What did you tell Jughead?" Archie demanded now, taking FP's momentary shock as a chance to ask his own questions.

"You know Jug?"

"You're not asking the questions!" Veronica said, to which Archie said, "Right. Thanks, Ronnie. You're not asking the questions!"

FP leaned forward now. When he spoke, it was practically a growl.

"I'm not answering, either. Unless you answer some of mine. How do you know Jug?"

Betty stepped forward.

"We're his friends," she said. "And I also have some questions for you, Mr.--"

The pause was brief, but it was still a pause.

"--Jones."

Amazingly, a smile cracked across FP's haunted face. It crinkled the eyes, left him blinking rapidly, caught in the throes of some intense emotion.

"So he told you about me," he said, nodding a little. "About his old man. Alright."

"You're not his old man!" Archie protested.

The smile dried up. FP was at the bars so fast that all four of the teens jumped back.

"Hey!" he said, shaking his head. "You cool it with that mouth, Red. Who are you to tell me my kid ain't my kid?"

Archie's eyes were wide, but Betty was the one who responded.

"We've never seen you before," she said slowly. "We didn't even find out there were actually families in the Southside until, like, one week ago--"

"There are what?" said Kevin. "In the Southside?"

"Don't have to say it like a curse," FP said, through gritted teeth. Kevin just stared at him, like he wasn't sure how else FP expected him to say it.

"Mr. Jones," Veronica put in now. "Just a tiny question that occurs to me. How come we all can see you? I thought most people from Riverdale couldn't see the Southsiders."

"We can't what?" Kevin said.

Kevin was ignored. The others were focused on FP, who'd retreated back to his cot and brought his hand to his mouth, curling the fingers into a fist while he thought. The action made Archie stiffen.

"There's what you might call a veil," FP said, after a few minutes. "Between our two sides. It doesn't lift right away when you cross. The time that takes to happen is different for different people. Think it just takes some people longer to understand what's different from them, or to be understood. Usually takes me a good few hours to show up for you all."

"So you were wandering around Riverdale for hours?" Betty and Veronica said at the same time. Then they shared a look, almost appreciative of how they'd come to the same question. They'd also made FP start a little, at being pressed from two sides at once.

"I was trying to get to Clifford Blossom's place," he said. "It isn't easy, for somebody like me to make it to his hallowed halls. But I had--" here he held out a hand and sort of gestured at nothing, "--news for him. About his boy. I thought he'd want to help his boy."

FP shook his head a little.

"I was wrong," he said.

He looked at them.

"Clifford visited me," he said. "Told me he sent my boy back there, to the Southside. That devil's bargain he made Jug take. Now you tell me something."

He leveled a finger at Betty.

"Are you really his friends?" he demanded. "You gonna help get him back where he belongs?"

Even in the gloom of the cellblock, some light seemed to break across Archie's face.

"You think he belongs here," he said. "With us! Right?"

"Wouldn't have left him here if I wanted him anywhere else," FP said. "I didn't want him living the way we do back on my side of town, Red. I wanted him to have some of your light. Some of the warmth. Wanted him to grow up and -- and be more than we get to be. We're not allowed all the chances you get. If you're really his friends, you'll get him back here. You won't let Clifford and this town throw him away, like they threw away the rest of us."

Archie opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, his phone started ringing. The shrill tone made the others jump. Archie wrestled it out of his pocket and answered. His volume was set loud enough that they all heard his father say, "Arch, I'm home, but where are you?"

Without warning, FP scrambled up from his cot. This time he was reaching through the bars, trying to get at the phone. It was a useless gesture, but it made all the teens fall back anyway.

"Arch?" came Fred's voice again.

FP started laughing, but there was no humor in it. It was a bitter, bitter sound.

"Hey, Fred!" he said loudly. "Noticed you didn't visit me."

"FP?" Fred said, sounding shaky.

"Alive and kicking," FP said, and it came out like a hiss somehow. "Oh, Fred. Freddie. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me."

Chapter Text

The blonde Serpent was named Penny, and she said she would bring him home. But by 'home' she clearly meant the trailer. When Jughead shot her an odd look over this, she added, "FP's tin can, anyway. Well, if it's good enough for him it's probably good enough for you, right?"

In the cold gloom, with hunger and exhaustion batting at his brain, Jughead found it easy to cling to her merry irreverence. He found himself telling her about his arrest, about Jason, about Clifford. About his father, hostage in a jail cell. She took the steps to the trailer two at a time, her skinny arms swinging, and clucked her tongue at him as she pushed open the door.

"Poor peerless leader," she said, shaking her head. "Poor old colonel. Tall Boy!"

The last one was not some off-color nickname for FP. Another Serpent was waiting at the kitchen table, tall and grizzled with long, mangy hair. He put Jughead in mind of an old wolf. Jughead found himself stepping back apprehensively.

"Where's FP?" Tall Boy demanded.

"He's tumbled into some stormy weather, I'm afraid," Penny said. She pulled up a barstool and leaned on it, examining her nails. "Sad. The kid can tell you."

Tall Boy's colorless gaze snapped to Jughead, but before Jughead could explain, Penny was launching into what he'd said to her. She smiled at him as she spoke, like she was shouldering the burden of telling the story for his benefit. Jughead accepted this. He was tired and lightheaded and didn't want to tell it a second time.

"So if we don't pony up little lord Fauntleroy," Penny finished, "they get to take out our bad, bad Leroy Brown."

Tall Boy frowned. Jughead couldn't tell if it was a frown of confusion or a frown of upset. If it was the latter it was such a minuscule thing that it almost made him angry, the emotion stabbing through his exhaustion with surprising vigor. FP was this man's leader. Surely Tall Boy should have more of a reaction than this.

"She means my father!" he said hotly.

"That's who I mean," Penny agreed.

Tall Boy said nothing. Jughead rallied his anger into words again.

"I need you to point me to Jason Blossom," he said. "If you guys have him, if you're holding him--"

"Boy, I don't give a damn what you need," Tall Boy said slowly. "You're coming into our part of town with some havey-cavey story--"

"It's for my dad!" Jughead said.

There was a moment of silence. Penny used it to examine a salt shaker on the counter, upend it, and then put it back down again.

"Kid, you have no idea whether we even have Jason," she said. Jughead stared at her. Her eyes were a china doll blue that somehow didn't suit her. She'd ringed them in black eyeliner and the effect was straightforwardly eerie, like she wanted her makeup to frighten instead of impress.

"He's not hidden in the closet or the town clubhouse. You can search the houses, but with your old man as tricky as he is? No chance of finding Jason here. FP knows how to hide things he wants hidden," she said.

Then, inexplicably, she started laughing a little.

"Shit," Tall Boy said suddenly. "I need to tell the others about FP."

He shoved past Jughead and banged his way out of the trailer. Penny stayed where she was.

"You want my advice?" she said. "Get some damn rest. Eat whatever FP's left for you, assuming he subsists on more than whiskey. And then--"

"The more time I waste, the longer he sits in a jail cell!" Jughead said.

Penny shrugged.

"Your old man's a tough junkyard dog," she said. "He'll keep for a bit. But you, you're supposed to be smart. So be smart. Eat. Sleep. Then hit the pavement. I know where I'd go to ask about a missing teenager."

She paused only to greedily collect Jughead's expression, the question that had to be written all over Jughead's face. It was like that question was her due, like it was only her right to gather it up.

"Big snakes," she said, bringing her hands up above her head as if to indicate great height, "deal with big snake matters. Ghoulie-fighting all day, like your old man did. That was FP. Such a hero. But if we're talking a missing kid? That's not big snake business. That gets delegated. It's the kids who told me and Tall Boy that FP had picked that boy up and then was running off for the Blossoms', trying to make some kind of trade. It's the kids you have to talk to."

"Toni," Jughead realized. "Fangs. Sweet Pea."

Penny nodded.

"Young snakes," she said briskly. "Like you. Southside High's where you wanna look. Straight shot down Hastings Street. I'll see if I can round some of them up for you in the meantime."

Then she pushed off the barstool and let herself out, with Jughead blinking after her.

All his anger at Tall Boy was fizzing away, replaced only by a sense of being overwhelmed. He found that he did want to eat and sleep. But he also wanted to find Jason. And he wanted to free FP. And he wanted to go back to Archie and Betty.

Like you forced its way in between all these wants. Played itself over and over. It was somehow the strangest thing anyone had ever said to him. Young snakes. Like you. No one had ever been like him before, and probably no one really was. And the thought that he was a snake was a strange one. FP had always made clear that Serpent business was Southside business, and therefore something Jughead should not concern himself with. FP had always stressed that Jughead wasn't a true Southsider.

Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was just an odd exception to the rules, empty and uncertain.

He found an old box of crackers in one of FP's cabinets and fell on it hungrily. After this, he groped along the short, dark trailer hallway until he hit the bedroom. He fell into the bed and was out, still wearing the old suit Pop had lent him.

-

When he woke, the battered digital clock on FP's night table told him it was only four in the afternoon, and yet the sky outside the trailer window was already a dark blue-grey, eager to welcome the night.

He changed into some of FP's clothes. They fit strangely well and felt familiar, all those layers of denim and flannel. When he started down Hastings Street, it was darker still even if it wasn't yet five, and the wind battered every tree, sending down cascades of gold leaves around him. To his left there was a huge drive-in screen, beyond that a CLOSED sign that was so faded it must have been up a long time. To his right was a row of houses that were all leaning on each other, as if they could keep out the wind better that way. He examined the pavement on his walk and found it whole, but then no wonder it was whole, because the telephone poles on the street all boasted graffitied snakes. Serpent territory, where the only thing beneath your boots were puddles of black water, gathering up all the faint streetlight and reflecting it back into the gloom.

Southside High waited at the end of the street.

It wasn't open, Jughead thought. It couldn't be open. Not just because of the lateness of the hour. Because of the general air of decay. Southside High was ugly, squat, and grey, with rusting metal bars anywhere metal bars could possibly be placed. Jughead crossed to it apprehensively, pulling at the heavy doors, surprised to find them unlocked.

He had the sense not of walking into a building, but of peering into some bleak, lightless body of water, where everything inside was still and cold and unknowable. Anything could loom within. He took in a deep breath and pushed on.

The metal detectors were unattended. The hall payphone had no receiver. The office was a mess of papers and broken desks, and so were the classrooms. The bathroom stalls had no doors. Every wall was covered in graffiti, and every bank of lockers in roosting pigeons. In some places, there was no ceiling.

Still, there were people. People ringed around trashcan fires in the auditorium (missing a wall). People tossing bottles at him when he opened doors. People shrieking and yelling in distant corridors. Kids. This was where the kids were, even if they didn't behave like kids. Even if, by the fourth time someone in a denim jacket shoved him against a locker and then dashed away, hooting, back to their friends, they were starting to piss Jughead off and frighten him in equal measure.

Not that he showed the fright. You never showed your fright, not to the Jason Blossoms or Reggie Mantles of the world, and not to these kids in their decay-palace either.

Toni and Sweet Pea were nowhere to be found. Neither was the other one (Fangs?), and he wasn't really expecting to find Joaquin, since the last time he'd seen Joaquin Joaquin had been in no condition to spelunk with a gang of hoodlums.

Still, it almost would have been nice to see even a feverish familiar face.

He'd made his way around the second floor and was gingerly stepping down a back staircase, trying to avoid the places where the floor had rotted through, when he realized someone was following him.

It was just a sense, but it was so intrusive as to be unmistakable. He craned his neck around briefly and saw no one, and yet still the sense persisted. Here the halls were free of drinking, hell-raising teenagers, and the building was more skeleton than building. But he wasn't alone.

He sped up, still careful where he stepped. He had the odd paranoid feeling that whoever was behind him sped up, too. At the bottom of the stairs he spied another metal door, leading outside. When he ran to it, it was locked. When he dodged into a side hall and went for the next door leading outside, that was locked too. Suddenly everyone seemed to have vanished. It was just him and a bare cross-section of this dilapidated warren, and he backtracked to the stair again, trying to take the long way to the front entrance, which he knew was open.

Someone grabbed him from behind. They shoved him down with so much force that the back of his head cracked on the railing. Pain bloomed. As he went down, they kicked him in the stomach. Where his fingers landed, they stepped on them. One took his head and slammed his cheekbone into the floor.

Distantly, he heard himself whimpering. But pain didn't let you think too long on whimpering. He felt himself curling into a ball and they were still hitting him -- more than one, definitely -- and time stopped counting because pain made time feel superfluous.

Stop, he tried to say, and the trying didn't matter. When they finally stopped and the pain faded a little, he realized that shame had glued up his throat anyway.

He didn't understand. He thought they couldn't be Ghoulies, because surely Ghoulies would do worse, but he also thought he should have tried harder to understand who they really were. Instead he cowered, pathetic, against the stair rail, breathing hard and trying to put his thoughts in order. He only looked up when he heard footsteps.

This time he showed his fear. He couldn't seem to keep it back. But this time he knew the people who appeared in front of him. Toni in particular was hard to miss, since she'd added several more shades of pink to her hair.

"Jones," was all she said, regarding him. Jughead realized that there was no shock in her face. That felt odd. Had the Serpents been the ones beating him up? Suddenly he couldn't tell. His hands were shaking.

"Did you--" he started. "Were you the ones who--"

He gestured at himself.

Sweet Pea punched a nearby locker so hard that it jolted from the wall.

"All Southsiders look alike to you, huh?"

That wasn't what he was saying. But it also didn't feel entirely wrong. The trouble with Southside High was that every part of it felt lawless and wild, even more so than the rest of the Southside, and yet it also felt like a trap. And right now he hated himself for walking into it. The pain was no longer consuming him, so now humiliation was flooding in.

"Did you?" he demanded. His voice was too high. He almost didn't care. He clenched his fists and tried not to think of what it might mean if it had been them, and if they did it again.

"No," Toni said. After a sparing a glance for the boys and girls crowded behind her (a lot of them, Jughead noted distantly. Not just Sweet Pea and Fangs but at least ten others, all wearing snake jackets), she came and kneeled before him. She pressed her fingers to his bloody cheekbone and he flinched.

"We didn't stop them, either," she said, after a second. "We don't know your allegiances, Jones."

"Allegiances?" Jughead managed.

He tried to arrange his thoughts into order, but his emotions were still in the driver's seat. And he didn't understand. The Southside he'd known before, the Southside he'd known through his father, had had rules of its own devising. Odd, strange ones. Self-willed rules. But still rules. But this attack seemed to have no meaning or sense at all.

Toni tipped his chin down so that he was looking straight into her eyes. It was a weird, frightening gesture, but her other hand closed on his fists and kept them from shaking in front of the others, so he felt strangely comforted at the same time.

"Jones," she said quietly. "You brought back Joaquin in the condition he was in. And you brought a Northsider onto our turf, one that could hurt me. And Tall Boy says we've as good as traded FP for you. And you're not a Serpent--"

"Of course I'm not," Jughead blurted out.

For some reason, this only made Sweet Pea punch the locker again, this time so violently that the metal crumpled.

-

By the time Toni and Fangs dragged him back to the trailer, most of the other Serpents had slunk away. Sweet Pea had not. He paced furiously in the small living room as the other two set about treating Jughead's wounds.

"So I'm worth patching up, but not worth defending?" Jughead bit out.

"Don't take it so personally," Toni said lightly, while Sweet Pea stopped pacing long enough to turn an enraged look on Jughead.

"You're basically a Northsider," he said. "Being the son of FP Jones only gets you so far, you know."

"Glad to know it gets me somewhere," Jughead retorted.

Every previous feeling had by now dissipated into a kind of righteous anger. He hadn't asked for any of this, for FP, for who he was, for who they were. It wasn't his fault. And he had to find Jason Blossom. He pushed Fangs off of him, leaving Fangs clutching a lot of gauze for no reason and looking offended, and said, "I have to ask you guys some questions."

Toni leaned back and shot Sweet Pea a warning look before he could punch anything.

Fangs said, "Well, you can ask..."

We may not answer hung unsaid. Jughead bit his lip, frustrated, and then winced because biting his lip hurt as much as everything else did.

"So does my dad mean nothing to you?" he said. "He's your leader, he's the guy that makes sure you can all keep the Ghoulies away--"

Sweet Pea scoffed.

"Oh, like you know what that even means, Jones," he said.

"I know it means that if you don't tell me what you did to Jason Blossom, my dad could end up hurt! Or worse!"

Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Toni regarded him incredulously. Sweet Pea, without warning, picked up the same salt shaker Penny had been playing with earlier and threw it with force at the opposite wall. It shattered. Toni didn't even bother responding to this. She just started shaking her head.

"Okay," she said. "Yes, your father keeps the peace. Wards off the Ghoulies. Yes, he's our leader, and yes, we like him and we don't want him hurt, but what gives you the idea we did anything to your friend, Jones?"

"He's not my--" Jughead began, but swallowed that thought, because it didn't matter. "My dad definitely didn't kill Jason, okay? I know he didn't do it."

Again the Serpents stared.

"We never said he did!" Fangs put in now. He was regarding Jughead like Jughead was an entirely new species or something. After a second he stopped regarding Jughead and looked at Sweet Pea instead. In response, Sweet Pea picked up the pepper shaker and threw that after the salt shaker, for no discernible reason at all.

"Your dad," he said, enunciating every word, "helped Blossom and his girl get away from the Ghoulies. But then he went off with the two of them. Didn't want us following. Next time we saw him, he had the jacket and he'd cooked up some plan he wanted us to tell Tall Boy. Said he was gonna do what they'd been thinking of for a while. Try to make some kind of exchange. That's all we know."

Jughead shook his head without entirely intending to.

"So...he goes off with Jason, comes back with Polly, later on comes back with the jacket..."

Where was Jason now, then? How had FP disposed of Jason somehow? Did Polly know? She hadn't seemed to want to say anything concrete.

"I agree your dad probably didn't kill him," Toni said, watching him carefully like she could read his thoughts. "For what it's worth. FP's not a mastermind. Anything he does, he does it to keep the Ghoulies in line."

"Right," Jughead said, nodding. This made more sense than thinking of his dad as a killer. This was better than thinking of his dad as a killer. "So they don't do damage. So they don't hurt you, hurt the Southside, or even hurt Northsiders like Jason and Polly--"

Having already demolished the salt and pepper shakers, now Sweet Pea attacked the counter with a fist.

"Northsiders! Northsiders this! Northsiders that!" he said, even though Jughead barely knew him and already knew Sweet Pea was the likeliest to overuse references to the Northside. "Who gives a crap about the Northsiders, Jones? We fight the Ghoulies just so they don't hurt us."

Fangs and Toni were nodding their agreement, but they weren't the ones Sweet Pea wanted agreement from, it seemed, because he kept talking.

"I didn't join the Serpents to protect Northsiders," he growled. "I just wasn't suicidal enough to be a Ghoulie. And maybe that's a shame."

"What?" Jughead said. "Suicidal?"

Now Fangs chimed in.

"Yeah, dude. It's their creed," he said. "Ghoulies think the only escape from all this autumn is death, man. Death for all."

"They kill Southsiders because they know it means a Northsider will die," Toni put in now. "And kill Northsiders even if it means a Southsider dies, too. And if they die, it doesn't matter. Any death means a win for them. Any death, no matter how painful, no matter how dark, Jones."

He'd known that. Should have known it. But he hadn't wanted to think of what it was like to have his face pressed into the ground, dirt clogged in his teeth, hearing the Ghoulies merrily plan to bury him alive.

On the Northside, people died calmly. Suddenly. They fell over, or they went to bed and just didn't get up in the morning. Any ensuing mourning was muted and almost sweet. After the funerals, there were usually concerts or cheese-tastings to get to.

He touched his swollen cheekbone, felt the thrum of pain and the lingering sense of shame. He'd always felt hurt more acutely than the Northsiders. Maybe he just had a Southside body.

Death must work differently here on the Southside. There must not be concerts.

"Listen," Toni said, standing abruptly. "We should go. Let you get some rest."

"No," Sweet Pea said. "I need to know if he's going to join us."

"What?" said Jughead.

"Join us," Sweet Pea repeated, sounding exasperated. "What's it gonna be, Jones? Are you Serpent? Or Ghoulie?"

"What?" Jughead said again.

"You have to choose," Sweet Pea insisted. "We all have to choose."

"Why?" Jughead said.

Now the Southsiders looked at each other, as though he wasn't grasping something critical.

"Do you want to end the whole town and so the Southside," Toni said slowly, "or protect what little we have? We all have to answer that question. You can't just walk in here and demand things of the Southside and not make a choice."

But Jughead had his own piece to say.

"Why can't I just be me?"

Not Northside. But not fully Southside, either. He wasn't sure he wanted to be fully Southside. He wasn't sure he liked the thought of being Southside by default, purely because he fit so poorly into the Northside. Anyway, it didn't matter. He fit poorly here, too. He'd been here all of five minutes and already had his face beaten in.

But now Sweet Pea was pacing again, looking disgusted.

"This is the problem with Northsiders. Only a Northsider would try to be this arrogant. You know what, Jones? If there was a way to get back at you Northsiders without hurting us, I'd take it."

"I'm not a Northsider, Sweet Pea," Jughead snapped. "That's what I'm telling you!"

The three Serpents stared at him.

"Well, either way, what happened today," Toni said, looking down and offering the carpet a humorless smile, "will happen again, Jones. That's what happens to snowflakes on the Southside. So think about that."

They turned to let themselves out. But if they left, then there went Jughead's best chance of discovering what had happened to Jason. He tried frantically to think about what he knew, about the best question to ask.

"Wait," he said. "When Jason came here he was heading to the water. He thought he could find help there. From my dad, you said. Like he knew he would find my dad there. And when Joaquin went crazy, Penny said you were putting him in the water. What did she mean by that?"

Sweet Pea gave an ugly grin and walked out, leaving Fangs and Toni staring down at Jughead.

"You are not ever going to find that out," Toni said, every word even and clear, "unless you become a Serpent, Jones."

Then they left.

Jughead sat alone, face throbbing, as the night wind howled around the trailer.

Chapter Text

He assumed the Serpents would leave him alone after that, having pronounced him too individualistic for the Southside.

But the next morning they knocked on the trailer door. Knocked and then let themselves in, as though the knocking was a courtesy. Sweet Pea was holding a bag of rolls. Another courtesy. Jughead appreciated that one more. Rather than say hello, he took the bag and dug in. It was early morning, too early to wake after the day he'd had, but his whining stomach had dragged him out of sleep.

The Serpents watched him eat. After his hunger had calmed down a bit, Jughead warily watched them back.

"Look," Toni said, with a wry little smile, "You are a special snowflake, and you definitely don't know jack about the Southside--"

"Jack," Fangs put in, as if to stress this.

"But you are also FP's kid and we want to help him, so we'll help you."

Jughead swallowed his last roll. He tried not to look like he was about to cry with gratitude. They'd watched him being beaten up -- he shouldn't be grateful to them. But he almost couldn't help it. He felt like it had been a long, long time since he'd had any reason to be grateful about anything, so he would be grateful about this.

Now his hands and FP's cheap formica table were dusted with crumbs. He examined those crumbs.

"Where's the food come from?" he blurted out.

He was genuinely curious. And this felt like a safe piece of the Southside to ask about, a line of inquiry that might not get him more shattered salt shakers or demands to join the Serpents.

Toni looked taken aback and almost charmed by the question, but it was Sweet Pea, pulling up a chair, who answered.

"Blossom farms, right? All our deliveries at the bodega -- they all say Blossom farms. It's all from Blossom farms."

Jughead goggled at him. "What are the Blossoms?" he said.

Sweet Pea shuddered a little, the action unsuited to his broad shoulders.

"I'm not some mystic, Jones. I don't know. That's way above our paygrade. It's a question for your dad."

Toni said, "Anyway, even if they're something worse than your standard Northsider, they're also the ones that put food on the table, keep the Southside afloat."

Then she pulled up a seat and gestured for Fangs to follow. As Fangs squeezed into the chair by the window, she added, "What's 'afloat,' though?"

Sweet Pea had no time for philosophical questions. He was now looking disgruntled again, or maybe he was always disgruntled. He snapped, "Are we just gonna to be be pathetically grateful to a family that is Northside, the worst of the Northside, just because they, what, feed us here on the other side of the tracks?"

Toni bit her lip. She seemed to know she had blundered ungracefully to a semi-traitorous point, but she pressed on anyway. And, oddly enough, it was Jughead she looked to for support.

"Jughead," she said, brandishing the name almost boldly, "As our resident outsider, tell me something. Regardless of where we stand on the Northside, the Serpents want to keep the Southside alive. The Ghoulies want to do nothing but kill it. But what if -- what if we went beyond just surviving? Just staying afloat? What if there was a third option?"

Sweet Pea and Fangs exchanged a glance, looking confused. Jughead understood that Toni was breaking ranks somehow.

Toni seemed to understand it too. For a second, she appeared honestly distraught.

"Well, we're just surviving!" she bit out. "That's it! Just, just barely making it from day to empty day, fighting all this decay, and these zombies--"

Jughead thought he got it. Maybe. It was strange to get it, though, strange to look at another person and see them building to the same conclusion he might, tell the story the way he might tell it.

"You don't want the Southside to just endure," he said.

"Exactly," Toni said.

"You want it to grow."

"Thrive," Toni insisted.

"You want to give it more than this blank autumnal nothing, with death creeping in around the edges. To save it--"

"Okay, Jones Christ Superstar," Sweet Pea said, cutting in. "You literally don't know anything about the Southside--"

But Jughead was not going to be deterred. He was suddenly buoyed along by Toni's smile.

"Is it a pipe dream?" he demanded of Sweet Pea. "Is it too much to ask that all of you have more than some meaningless shadow existence?"

Sweet Pea looked offended by this, but, again, Sweet Pea always looked offended.

Fangs put in, "You sound like your dad."

"I do?"

"Your dad in his cups, anyway," said Fangs, his mouth twisting up like he couldn't tell whether to be supportive or judgmental.

But now Sweet Pea smacked the table.

"I'm bored," he announced. "Let's go to the quarry."

The others didn't agree so much as they moved in tandem with him, so that for a second all the Serpents seemed like a many-headed animal, made of leather and denim and teenage limbs, a single mind that now shuffled up and to the door. They stopped once they had it open. Toni poked her head back in and said, "Coming, Jones?"

It was so strange to be invited along that he said, "Sure," without really thinking about it. But as he trailed after the Serpents along the street that ran by the trailer park, he realized that he would have said yes even if he had thought about it. Yes, the quarry sounded dangerous. A pit of earth, maybe? Were they going there to beat up Ghoulies? He wasn't sure he wanted to do that.

But maybe this was like how Betty had signed up for the River Vixens despite not especially wanting to spend hours with Cheryl Blossom. Or how Archie attended those weird Bulldog male bonding nights despite having nothing in common with Jason. Archie and Betty were the type to be invited, even if the invitation was to do something unpleasant, and that was enough to make them want to appease the Blossom twins. When people gave you a little, sometimes you felt incentivized to give them all.

Still, he found himself pulling his denim jacket in as though he were cold, though he wasn't that. He just found this line of thought strange. He'd never tried to please people like this. He wasn't like Archie and Betty. He was himself, a singular self, and for years that was all he'd had. Not a vixen, bulldog, or young snake, but merely a perpetual outsider.

But being talked to wasn't so bad.

They took him behind the Whyte Wyrm, where Pickens Street became a road that snaked dangerously off into the forest. It was bordered by the same high, barbed-wire-topped walls that ringed this section of the Southside, bedecked with DANGER:LANDMINES signs, graffiti, and little plush snake totems. Jughead blinked at this unexpected path into what he had to assume was otherwise Ghoulie territory.

"How far does that go?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Fangs shot back, grinning. But then he added, "Nah. You'll find out soon. You ride?"

They were each sidling up to a motorcycle, and Jughead thought belatedly of the one FP had under a tarp outside the trailer. FP had often made vague promises of teaching him to ride it, and Jughead thought he had really wanted to, but between the Ghoulies and the gin he had never seemed to find the time. A part of Jughead assumed that FP had discharged any sense of real duty to him when he had left Jughead to the Northside, and he thought he had never been as hurt by this as he could have been. Except for when it came to the motorcycle promises. It did ache that FP had never found time for that.

"I can figure it out," he said now, trying to be nonchalant about it.

None of them looked convinced. Sweet Pea actually grinned. Then he stretched, showing off his muscles like he was Reggie Mantle confronted with a gaggle of Vixens. Jughead blinked at him.

"You rode with Toni last time, so this time you ride with me," Sweet Pea decided.

"I get him on the way back," Fangs said.

"I get to fix the fact that he can't ride a bike," Toni added, with a wink.

"What are you -- timesharing me?" Jughead asked incredulously.

He didn't get an answer. They were starting their bikes. Gingerly, he climbed on behind Sweet Pea, taking the helmet that was passed back to him, and then they were off.

The road wound deep into the wilderness, protected from the Ghoulies by black asphalt and that high, high wall. After about five minutes they came upon a gaggle of Serpents reinforcing a place where the wall seemed to have been destroyed. Jughead whipped his head around to get a better look, but they were going too fast to see more than that.

Soon they arrived at a lake. It was cold and grey, collecting soft mist, and it didn't hold Jughead's attention for long. Along the shore were innumerable piles of junk -- gas station pumps, barber chairs, ancient suitcases, and waterlogged couches. Tires, old wooden doors, plastic lawn chairs, even an metal buffalo statue the size of a small house. There were signs and small hot dog shacks laid on their sides, crumpled husks of cars and a structure that was at least two stories tall, shaped like a woman with two windows and a doorway in her skirt, made of corroded and ill-painted metal.

Toni tried to shout something at Jughead, but he was too busy staring to hear it. She repeated it when they stopped a little ways along the lake, where the water met the hard rock of what was indeed a quarry.

"It's from the Northside," she told him. "They put their junk in the Sweetwater, and the currents take it here. So it's kind of our salvage-yard kingdom. Plus the Ghoulies have a hard time coming through here, because the ground is rock, not dirt. This is where we get what we use to pave them over."

Jughead nodded. That made sense. It warred with his most recent image of FP, turned his dad into little more than a glorified construction foreman, something which made Jughead frown a bit. But it made sense.

Here the Serpents had dragged five or six couches into a circle, around a trashcan where Fangs was now busily lighting a fire. Sweet Pea began to sort through the debris a little further on, pointing to or picking up pieces of it for no apparent reason other than to show them to Jughead. Old telephones, ancient directories. A rotting caravan that promised MAGIC AND MARVELS. A half-destroyed sign that said AND SMITH AND TATE.

Jughead brushed aside some withered leaves that the wind must have carried over from the forest, and sat on one of the couches.

"What do you think?" Toni prompted, taking a seat next to him.

It was all odd and ugly, valueless and unwanted. It felt like someone had scooped out some of Jughead's brain and dumped it on the lakeshore.

"It's pretty perfect," he told Toni.

Again her secretive little smile darted out. It reminded Jughead of something gentle and small that perhaps lived in the dark. He found himself grinning back without meaning to.

Fangs crowded into the couch next to him. He was surprisingly warm, too much arm and a lot of leather.

"We were on our shift guarding Pickens Road, with your dad, when your boy Jason Blossom came through in that fancy red car of his," he said, without preamble.

Jughead started.

"He's not my bo--Pickens Road? That road back there?"

Fangs nodded, jerking his chin back at the walled, landmined path they'd come on.

"He knew what he was looking for," Toni put in. "Or thought he did. Almost ran us over trying to get to it, with his girlfriend right there in the passenger seat, and then, just as he was going to roar out of sight, they broke through the wall. Set off the mines right underneath. Cracked the pavement. More came up through the ground--"

"The Ghoulies?" Jughead asked incredulously, trying to picture this nightmarish scene. No wonder Polly had looked so horrified.

"Not like they haven't tried to breach the wall before," Fangs said. "Sometimes one or two will run into it until they die, or they'll help eachother over and get blown up. But we make it hard on them, hard enough that they'd rather try and go into town, raid, kill people that way."

"But they came through the wall that night. Maybe to get to Jason," Jughead said, trying to put it together.

"We've seen them get pretty crazy," Toni said. "But never as crazy as that. I mean, they really wanted to get him. It took every Serpent guarding a stretch of Pickens Road that night to drive them back, and while most of them were fighting, Blossom went up to your dad and your dad went off with him."

Fangs said, "FP said we should go back to town and get reinforcements, but him, he came this way with Blossom and Blossom's girl. Here. To the lake."

Jughead started. Now the calm ugliness of this junkyard shore seemed to take on new meaning. Every derelict radiator cover, ancient television, or giant movie matinee letter seemed to acquire some invisible weight. This was the last place they knew Jason Blossom had been. Here. By the water.

Of course by the water. This was where the Serpents had their kingdom.

"Found it," came Sweet Pea's voice. "This is where it was. Over here, Jones."

Jughead shot up. When he followed Sweet Pea's voice and picked his way past the rotting caravan and old toilets and the piles of tires, he discovered a familiar cherry-red convertible. It was designed to match its twin on the Northside, except that on the Northside the plates read CHERRY80M8. Here they read K1NGJ4S0NB.

Jughead bet that Cheryl's convertible was in much better condition, too. Jason's seemed to have decayed rapidly. Too rapidly. He opened the doors and peered inside and found the interior stripped (Sweet Pea carefully looked away), and the leather seats acquiring mold. Outside, the metal was already rusting. He climbed on the hood to get a better look at how the glass on the front windshield had erupted into a spiderweb of small cracks. He traced them, wondering. He couldn't find anywhere the cracks originated. They just seemed to have been caused by some indistinct stress, like the glass had gone brittle with age. He hadn't thought glass could age like this.

He was still crouching on the hood, puzzling this over, when Toni and Fangs caught up to them.

"It's just the Southside," Fangs offered awkwardly. "You know, things get ruined here. Get old real fast."

Jughead shot a look at him. In the misty grey, Fangs didn't look ruined. He was young and clear-eyed, albeit smudged with soot.

Toni mistook Jughead's quiet disagreement for confusion.

"We're the autumn, Jones," she said. She sounded unhappy and apparently this meant she reverted back to last names. "We're decay. We're always slowly getting colder, always inching closer to death. We don't have -- have rules, or rights, or anything much except for that. Just decay. Decay breaks all the rules, I think. Breaks you. Breaks me. Breaks everything, really fast."

Jughead traced the spiderweb cracks. He had too many questions, just like always, and just like always he had to settle on one.

"How do you live like that?" he asked uncomfortably.

Toni and Fangs shrugged, almost in unison, but Sweet Pea, who had been lurking around near the back of the car, now spoke up.

"Just do, Jones. Makes us angry. I mean, the Ghoulies have already won, right? But what can we do? Just get angry. Keep getting angry, and that's how you survive."

Jughead knew by now that the Northside was a verbatim topic among people who had to live like this, but he couldn't help his next question.

"So...if you could cross to the Northside and live there, would you?"

Sweet Pea made a furious, animalistic sound.

"You think we haven't tried? You think everybody doesn't try, eventually? But we can't. Northsiders -- they get the perfect town, but you know what else they get, Jones? They can leave. Hop on a train and go to the city. We can't leave. You wanna see the Southside bridge? It goes halfway over the Sweetwater and then it stops. The lake goes on forever, so we can't cross that. The forest is full of Ghoulies. And we try to get out by crossing the tracks, and we end up in the Northside, where you get ignored or thrown in jail or get so drunk on all the light there that you get stupid. Get to thinking you can take it for yourself, and then you get crazy like Joaquin."

The horror of this grabbed hold of Jughead, icy-cold, worming itself around his heart.

"Who did this to you?" he found himself saying. "Who made it so--so that you're trapped?"

The Serpents looked at eachother.

Fangs said, "I think your dad thought your boy Jason--"

"--the one you basically want us to help," Sweet Pea snarled.

"--his family might have had something to do with it. That's why he agreed to make a deal with Jason Blossom."

"He agreed to make a deal?"

Toni traced the edge of one rusted side mirror. "Before they took off for the lake, Jason said, 'I have a proposition for someone named Jones. Is that you?' And your dad wasn't even surprised that Jason knew his name."

-

The Jason Blossom mystery, therefore, wasn't just Jughead's mystery. It belonged to the whole Southside. Maybe Jughead was just intruding on it.

Still, it did mean something when Fangs promised to track down more Serpents who had been on the Pickens Road that night, when Sweet Pea grudgingly said he'd keep looking through the refuse along the shore for some sign of Jason. When Toni kept inviting him to the bodega and to see the half-way Southside bridge, and explained to him what had happened to the school (teachers became Ghoulies) and where all the kids were when they weren't drinking and causing senseless mayhem (either already Ghoulies, planning to be Ghoulies, or else committed to the Serpents. Not a lot of options on the Southside).

Jughead couldn't contribute a lot to them in turn, but something did occur to him one day. Something Betty had said, about the Southside having records somewhere. Maybe the Southside wasn't permitted a future, but it had to have a past, a history.

"You're taking us to the library," Sweet Pea said, over a quick soda pop and potato chip dinner at the bodega. "To the library."

"To the library," Jughead confirmed.

"I've never been to the library, Jones!"

"Sweets, that is not surprising," Jughead said.

But going to the library meant edging around the bare ground and twisted black trees of Pickens Park, which seemed oddly familiar even though Jughead hadn't been there since that night (long ago. Not so long ago?) with Betty.

"The Blossoms have pictures of this in their house," he told the others. He thought he could match one especially gnarled tree to the images of the town's founding, one line of mist-battered, ancient buildings on the other side of the park to the tableau he had seen in the Blossom ceiling coffers.

"You've been to their house?" Toni said, looking horrified. "Dark. Is it covered in gold and severed baby heads?"

"It's cold," Jughead said.

Odd, but that was the overwhelming impression Thornhill had given him. Not grand and not even especially frightening. Merely dead. Everything cold and dead. If the Southside was decaying, then Thornhill was what you got when the decay finally caught up to you.

When they reached the library, the librarian, who had small rhinestone snakes set into her horn-rimmed glasses and a prim snake tattoo sneaking out of the sleeves of her cardigan, greeted Toni and Fangs warmly. Sweet Pea stared at them, betrayed.

"I like looking through all those Popular Mechanics we've got," Fangs said, shrugging. "Even if they're old and stuff."

"And I've already tried to look for our town history," Toni said, "But...I've never been able to tackle that section on my own."

What she meant was that this was the largest and messiest section of the tiny library. The rest, Fangs quickly confirmed, was all ancient magazines and out of print versions of classics and stuff like that.

"Nothing older than 1941," he said, a date that seemed to nag at something in Jughead's mind.

The section on the Southside itself was a sprawling, chaotic seventeen shelves, packed with pamphlets and other ill-assembled attempts at self-publishing. Nothing ascribed to the Dewey decimal system, or to any decimal system, and in fact you were lucky if you encountered decimals or standard notation of any kind. Jughead found several collections of angry black marker scrawlings.

'How The Ghoulies Tried To End Us With the JJ.' 'Why You Shouldn't Cross The Tracks' ("My man Rusty-Limb tried it and came back f u c k e d"). Many on the topic of spring. "Is it a myth?" and "Where did it go?" seemed to be popular questions. Someone named A. Smith had contributed a self-published-newspaper, ribbing teenaged Serpents past, each one given mocking pseudonymous monikers. King Trash Snake, a preening, untrustworthy, inexplicably likable caricature who featured prominently, reminded Jughead almost of FP.

He could see why Toni had had trouble finding anything concrete, though. Most of the books in this section were badly water-stained, with their inexpert scribblings rendered incomprehensible by this. Sweet Pea seemed to have the worst luck with these, finding them more often than any of the others did, and so every ten minutes or so he'd accost Jughead with one, snarling, and say, "See? What's the point, Jones?"

After fifth or sixth time he did this, the librarian came by and smacked him on the back of the head. After this he'd just silently shove these books in Jughead's face before stomping off to a moth-eaten armchair and throwing himself into it, glowering, as though to dare them all to make him try and trust books again.

Then he'd get up to help, discover something he couldn't read, and repeat the cycle.

"What's the point?" he'd hiss again, casting dour looks at the librarian as though afraid she could hear.

Jughead was ready to agree with him after what felt like a few hours of this. They had cleared a good five shelves and he was getting tired and hungry. You always seemed to mark time here by when your stomach rebelled, because clocks -- like any other luxuries -- were rare, and the sky was almost always a too-dark autumn grey.

Still, he turned to another shelf that neither Toni nor Fangs had tackled yet and began rummaging around in it.

One book caught his attention. It wasn't shelved right. Nothing here was shelved right, of course, but this was shelved the way FP shelved things. Backwards, pages out. FP wasn't much of a reader, but seemed to love that Jughead was, and so he'd often gestured at the one sad shelf in his kitchen, which had a lot of books on how to build roads and what the best season for crops was and how Jesus would save and self-help things on how to be a people person and an influencer. FP claimed to have read them all, but apparently had no interest in reading them ever again, because they were all lined up like this one was, so that he could run his fingers over the pages and say things like, "This one. See? This one's like two-hundred, maybe three hundred pages. Yeah. Read the whole thing, too."

This book in the library wasn't so thick. When Jughead pulled it out and turned it around, the spine said A History of Our Town. But the early pages were all stuck together, so he couldn't read those. He could only flip to the middle, to chapter five, entitled Abner Andrews Opens His 1941 Hotel.

It was a history of the Northside. From 1941 on, first the establishment of monthly concerts, then the founding of such noble institutions as the Register and the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Here and there some relative of Betty's came up, and Archie's family figured prominently as a humble, hardworking line that had done much to keep the town a moral and essentially decent place. Jughead had missed them both ever since he'd set foot in the Southside, but now the missing reached up in his throat and choked him a little. He read on furiously. A lot of this was history he'd known already, having grown up on the Northside.

Only the last chapter was new.

Chapter Ten
Our Neighbors to the South

Since 1941, our neighbors to the South have continued to hold our darkness and decay for us. Our pain, our exhaustion, our bad reputations, our secrets, our fears, our thievery, and our ugliness. They will continue to hold all the detritus of life, which keeps life from being pleasant. Some have said that we need the darkness they hold, but in our town we do not believe this.

That was it. That was all. Jughead flipped back to the start of the book, before the events of 1941, and tried in vain to unstick the pages.

"What's the point?" Sweet Pea said again, watching him do this.

"Shut up and help me," Jughead snapped.

Sweet Pea reeled back, snarling, but Fangs and Toni came and tried to help, and so after a few minutes he did too. First together, and then in sequence, they attempted to unstick the pages without breaking them, but they couldn't manage to free even one page. Then the librarian saw them and came bearing down.

"What are you doing?"

Helplessly, Jughead showed her the book. She did not react the way a Northside librarian might have, which was to say, she did not blame him. She only picked up the book, scowled at it, and beckoned them to her desk. There, they had to watch her use tweezers and patience to try and unstick the first fifty pages or so. Whenever one of the other Serpents tried to ask Jughead what the book was about, she would shush them.

"Whoever took this out last did not treat it kindly," she told them severely.

Then she bent her head and resumed her task. It seemed to go on for an agonizing eternity. Fangs went and got his Popular Mechanics, and read through several. Toni found some paper and began to compose her own angry black marker zine. Sweet Pea fell asleep in his armchair. Jughead sat cross-legged on the floor and tried to quietly eat a bag of his chips he had smuggled in, hoping the librarian wouldn't notice.

"There," she said eventually. Then she straightened, actually looked at the pages she had freed, and made an enraged noise. Jughead shot up, abandoning his chips. The others weren't far behind him.

Someone had crossed out every single word in the first fifty pages. Every one. Instead of paragraphs, there was only row upon row of black marker boxes.

Jughead flipped to the front cover, to see who had last checked the book out. But only one person ever had signed it out.

F.P. Jones.

Chapter Text

Fred said, "It was years ago."

Fred said, "I don't know that I ever really knew him."

Fred said, "Hard to really know somebody that troubled."

Fred said, "He was stealing, Archie. What was I supposed to do?"

Fred normally didn't waste words overexplaining. He got straight to the point with things. This time was no different, except that when he reached his point, he would tack on a new one. Then a new one. Then a new one. The resulting story made Fred sound like he was trying to justify his behavior. Fred had never sounded like this before. Archie's father was always decent, upright, and honest, but this was honesty in half-doses, nothing a lie, exactly, and yet still somehow striking just left of the truth. For the first time in Archie's life, Archie felt off-kilter around Fred.

Did you know Jughead was his son? Did you guess? hung on the tip of his tongue. But he didn't ask that. Instead the question settled on his face, almost a grimace, and his father, who always picked up and dispelled Archie's bad moods, pretended he didn't see it.

So Archie asked FP instead.

"Did he know about you and Jughead? Or is this really all about you stealing?"

FP had been stretched out on his cot, largely ignoring Archie except for a nod to indicate that he'd heard him enter, but now he jolted up.

"Hang on, Red," he said. He came up to the bars in that crouching way he had, his eyes wide and serious.

"Stealing, now stealing's a crime that's hard to forgive if you've got something to steal. But to a young man who's never had footballs or shiny new sneakers, or one of your fancy Bulldog jerseys, or hell. Even some of those construction materials your Grandpa used to sell. Well, it still might not be right, but it's easier to get a little muddled about the particulars."

Archie wanted to say that no, it wasn't, that Jughead had never had any of those things and still never stolen as far as he could tell, but FP talked over his objections.

"'Sides, it wasn't just the stuff. It's never been that," FP said, waving violently at a spot on the wall. "You know what it is, Red, to never see summer your whole life? To never see sunshine? To cross those tracks and find your match, find the one person who's enjoying it all in your stead?

"Maybe I didn't want the damn sports equipment. Maybe I wanted a little light. If I'd been born with it I might have been as upright a stick in the mud as Freddie is. I might have been something halfway decent. And you could say the same about any damn sadsack who goes under when the going gets tough. That's what a life like mine'll do to a man."

He subsided, waggling a finger at Archie to drive the point home. But Archie hung onto his original point.

"Jughead hasn't had an easy life, FP. And he never stole from me."

FP rolled his eyes.

"And if he did? If he turned out to be a little darker than you, a little more shadowy and twisted? What then, Red? Would you turn him out? Threaten to send him packing? Like your dad did to me?"

Archie swallowed hard. He hadn't considered that. He hadn't wanted to consider that. There was no right answer. A yes betrayed Jughead. A no betrayed his father.

So he tried a different line of questioning.

"You're my dad's... You're his soulmate, right?"

FP smiled a tight and knowing smile.

"It killed him to call us that. That was why I always used that word, any time I came over to see him. I figured he could use a little killing, what with how crazy I went the first time I touched him. But a better word might be his shadow."

Archie blinked.

"But you introduced yourself to him. You told him what was happening, with the North and Southsides. You kept visiting him, and talking to him--"

"I wanted to be friends," FP said simply. "I thought we'd become friends. But Fred wasn't cut out to be friends with a shadow. See, a shadow's always gonna want a little bit of your light. Freddie didn't want to share his."

Something horrible occurred to Archie.

"Is Jughead mine? My shadow? Do I have his summer and his light and--"

FP made another violent gesture.

"Jesus! No. No, Red. Jughead's not anybody's shadow. That's not for him. That's only for true Southsiders."

Disappointment over not being linked to Jughead warred with relief over not being linked to Jughead in that way. It left Archie reeling, blinking a little. FP blinked back, once, very deliberately and with a nod of his head, like he understood why Archie would be confused. Then he aimed his finger at the ceiling and seemed to think for a minute.

"A long, long time ago," he told Archie, "my people got traded away. So that you, and Fred, and all your people could have the perfect town."

"Who traded them?" Archie demanded. Because if this was true it was unfair, and if it was this unfair then he wanted to know the culprit.

FP put his finger down and frowned, like he hadn't expected Archie to jump to that question. For a few seconds, he was quiet.

"The worst people you can think of, Red. And some of 'em, some of 'em are still paying for it, believe you me."

Then he pushed off of the bars and went back to his cot. When he spoke again, he sounded tired.

"Go on, get back to Fred. You're gonna have to ask him for his side of all of this, and we both know he's a lot more believable than I am."

That seemed like a clear dismissal, so Archie left. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to his father. He only wanted to talk to his father because he didn't want to believe FP, and actually already he was believing some things. He just couldn't yet separate those things from the things he suspected were FP's own half-truths. Between two men who only told you one side, their side, he thought, it inevitably became impossible to see the whole.

He was reminded, too, of the way his dad would always talk about Jughead. Wild. Hard to look after. A lot of trouble. Fred never said any of this unkindly, but you could say an unkind thing in a kind tone, and probably if you were the sort of person used to light and summer, you might not know any other way to say it.

That didn't make it right.

He ended up sitting on the curb outside the station, watching his shadow and Jughead's shadow, too. Jughead's shadow had gone invisible with the darkness inside the station, but out here in the sunshine it was hard to miss. He hadn't told FP about it, because while he and FP agreed that Jughead shouldn't be Southside, Archie still felt like FP had taken what he thought he'd known about him and Jughead and turned it on its head. Archie didn't appreciate that. At least he was the one to get the shadow. The shadow followed him, not FP.

Though it also followed Betty, half the time. But Betty's mother had been on the warpath since she'd discovered Betty had visited FP Jones in his cell, and the shadow seemed to know to steer clear of Alice Cooper, so for today it was following Archie.

"Do you think my dad knew?" Archie asked it.

It shrugged. It shrugged the same way Jughead did, without much grace, almost like it wasn't sure how shoulders should work.

Archie frowned at it.

"Hey, how come you never showed up when Juggie wanted you?"

Jughead had wanted a shadow, that much he knew, even though they'd never talked about it. They'd never had the kind of friendship where Jughead would bring up a want that intense, or Archie would force him to talk about it. Still, Archie had known.

The shadow just shrugged again.

"Do you know anything, dude?" Archie asked it.

It went still and offended, just like Jughead often did. Then it nodded once, snidely but like it didn't want Archie to think it was going to waste too much time being offended, like it wanted Archie to think it was above mere offense. Just like Jughead wanted people to think.

Archie thought for a few minutes.

"When Jughead was here," he tried, "were you over there?"

Now the shadow nodded.

"So now that he's over there, you're over here."

Again a nod.

"What is Jug?"

The shadow made some movements with its hands. They were unclear at first, like bad attempts at puppetry. It took Archie maybe five minutes of more questioning (like "What?" "Seriously, dude. What?" and "Are you having a seizure?") to understand that it was forming letters. An L. Then two Os. Then both hands together to make a P, or maybe a Q.

No, a P.

A LOOPHOLE, said the shadow.

-

Generally speaking, mistrust of the Southside was high for all the townsfolk, but no one hated the Southside more than Alice Cooper. When she learned from Fred Andrews that Betty had gone to speak to a Southsider -- to the Southsider, as far as most of Riverdale knew -- she became the most Alice Cooper Alice Cooper yet. She threw herself fully into that dreadful, implacable overprotectiveness that had made her famous in a town where the children were never truly hurt, and there was rarely anything to protect from.

Which was to say, she drove Betty to and from school. Sometimes she even arrived early and watched Betty during River Vixens' practice (Cheryl had a lot to say about that). At home, she insisted that Betty's door remain open at all times and checked in on her daughter scrupulously, punctiliously, every fifteen minutes.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" she said periodically, the words extremely sweet even as her gaze remained extremely sharp.

"I did!" Betty said hotly. "I told you what Clifford Blossom and the Mayor did to Jughead."

"I mean talk to me about things that are actually our problem to deal with, Betty," Alice said. She invited herself into the room fully and then invited herself to Betty's closet, and then began to pull out skirts. She produced a measuring tape and started examining the respective lengths of the skirts with the tape.

"Mom!" Betty said.

"What?" said Alice. The what conveyed that Betty was perhaps undergoing a brief spell of insanity by implying that Alice could be doing anything unusual.

"My friend was banished," Betty said, making every word very clear and certain and not insane at all, "and you are measuring my skirts."

Alice looked over her shoulder at her, the way people looked at buzzing flies that had inconveniently flown too close to them.

"Your skirts are usually too short, Elizabeth," she noted. "That's been a problem for a while. Your father tried to argue for giving you some leeway, but he's a notoriously terrible decision-maker. I should have known that letting you run wild--"

"Wild!"

"You visited a felon, Betty."

"He hasn't even been charged with a crime!"

Alice's sickly-sweet tone took on a chill.

"Oh, he will be," she said. "Mark my words."

Then she snatched up several skirts, brandishing them victoriously before her, and left, saying, "Don't you dare close that door, Betty!"

This conversation more or less repeated itself, various times, each day, every day, before school and after, until Betty was ready to break something.

She'd told her mother that Jughead was out there somewhere on the Southside, alone and almost definitely in danger. And Alice had continued to write editorials calling for barricades, nice high walls with barbed wire at the top and landmines at the bottom, regardless of whether those barricades trapped Jughead on the other side of the tracks.

Alice wasn't the only parent acting oddly, either. Betty's father was even less concerned with her mother's Alice-ness than usual, and this was saying something. Betty had overheard him taking a phone call and yelling about what the Coopers were due, and how they too had to benefit from a bargain, and, oddly, the robotic tones coming through the receiver had suggested he was speaking to Clifford Blossom.

So her father was concerned with some ancient family feud, and her mother was, in all likelihood, itching to shoot a Southsider. And Betty remembered Toni and Sweet Pea not liking her very much, but shooting them or barricading them seemed to take things a little far.

On one lovely golden afternoon, in a deeply uncharacteristic fit of pique, she opened her wardrobe and stared at her remaining (deeply unflattering; some might say Amish) skirts. Then looked at her window. Then sat and patiently knotted the skirts together, using several years' worth of Fox Scouts training, then tied one end to her dresser, then threw the other end out of the window, then climbed out.

The whole thing took less than fifteen minutes, and so Alice hadn't prepared for it properly. Betty hurried to the house next door before her mother could discover her escape, but turned away when she remembered how strange it was that her mother and Fred Andrews were both united in disapproval of any Southside contact. Fred's disapproval was mild and kind, to be sure, but it was still there. And Betty wasn't sure she wanted to have a nice, polite coffee with him while he pretended she hadn't been trapped in her bedroom just next door for the past few days. Fred was a kind man and a good neighbor and a good father, but he was also firmly above interfering in anyone else's life, for anyone else's benefit, and this meant that sometimes for Alice he made an excellent accomplice.

So instead Betty cut over to the next street and hid in the Keller hedges until the Sheriff's car pulled away. He would probably find her mother at the station, calling for a search party. This was frustrating, because if she could, Betty would be down at the station, questioning FP Jones about Polly. But that would be the first place her mother would think to look for her. So now she knocked at the Keller residence until Kevin opened the door. He was wearing pajamas and had a night mask pulled up like a headband, because even though it was only four in the afternoon or so, you never knew when a day might stretch its shining loveliness so long that night never really arrived, or when the night might be full of elated summer songbirds, and Riverdale had a lot of days and nights like that. Hazy and hot, delightful if you wanted an ice cream or a swimming trip to Pickens Pond. Not ideal for sleeping.

"Betty? What happened to house arrest?" Kevin said.

Betty looked around warily, lest she be overheard by someone who might tell her mother.

"We have a sort of jailbreak situation," she said. She wasn't proud of it. But maybe it had had to happen.

Kevin took on a look of understanding.

"You badass! I'd brag too."

"I'm not bragging, Kev. I want us to talk about everything, and my mom took my phone. Text Archie and Veronica and have them meet us at Pop's?"

Kevin nodded. He invited Betty in and then set about getting dressed and texting the others, and within five minutes they were heading to Pop's. Betty felt antsy, but also strangely free.

"I guess if Jughead can walk into the Southside and Archie can spend all night arguing with his dad," she said, more to herself than to Kevin, "then I can break out of my house."

"Don't downplay your Cooper woman reckless streak," Kevin advised her. "It's not like it's the first time you've outdone those two when it comes to badassery, Betty."

Maybe that was true. Maybe it wasn't. Jughead wore stubborn individualism so well that sometimes he seemed to be arguing with the town purely by virtue of existing, and Archie could dig his heels in when he truly wanted to so that no one could move him, but there was an odd tendency in the Cooper women to suddenly, uncharacteristically demand their way. Betty found that it bothered her. It had led Polly to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. And it had turned their mother into their mother.

Veronica was waiting for them at Pop's, sipping a chocolate milkshake and fingering her pearls thoughtfully. Archie slipped in after Kevin and Betty had ordered their own milkshakes, trailed by Jughead's shadow. Kevin, who had been briefed on the shadow at school but never actually seen it, raised his eyebrows at it and blinked a few times. Archie ordered it Jughead's usual milkshake, then started, remembering that it couldn't drink. The shadow shook a little bit with laughter.

"That is never not going to be weird," Veronica noted. Then, "Why the council of war, B?"

It was not a council of war. Cooper women might go a little wild sometimes, but they did not do war.

"I wanted us to come up with some kind of plan to help Jug and Jason," Betty said. "My parents won't do it, and Jughead's dad is in jail, and Clifford Blossom is obviously evil. And I thought, well. Maybe the Northside can't do anything just yet, or won't. But we all have matches over there, right? People who are linked to us, who are a little scared of us, even. Soulmates."

"What?" said Kevin, who apparently hadn't learned this part yet.

He was swiftly briefed on it. Probably too swiftly. He began to look like he thought the idea was too big to truly grasp.

"Crazy, excellent cheekbones, piercing blue eyes was my what?"

There was honest hurt in his tone, like the universe was playing a colossal joke on him. For a moment, Betty recalled what had felt like endless conversations dissecting the glances of one Moose Mason, known around town as decidedly heterosexual. And a third grade assignment on 'What Makes Our Town So Excellent?' which Kevin and Jughead had both failed for answers that took two markedly different approaches to dismissing the entire premise. And several unsanctioned day trips to quarters of the city they both knew Kevin's father didn't approve of. It had all had an air of loneliness so intense that it defied even Betty's powers of perception. This answer, too, had that air.

But they didn't have time to focus on that.

"We all have a soulmate over there," Betty repeated. "Well, maybe not you, V."

"One of the many perks of being born on Park Avenue and not on Pussywillow Drive," Veronica noted.

"Our hospital's on Cedar Drive, Ronnie," Archie said. "Right next to the bowling alley and the year-round carnival."

Jughead's shadow shook its head, because it had no expression with which to convey how funny it clearly found this.

"Guys!" Betty stressed. "Focus. I think we need to talk to our soulmates. Figure out where they stand. If we can, if they'll listen to us and aren't totally crazy, we convince them to help Jug and Jason, and ask them about what happened to Polly--"

She preferred to ask Polly, but her parents had made very clear that Polly wasn't talking. And Polly had had to be taken to the Sisters, the worst thing that could happen to any Riverdale resident, so Betty thought her parents were probably right.

"So we...go over to the Southside?" Kevin was saying.

He did not look ready to second the suggestion. Neither did the others. Archie was frowning, like he was trying to think through all the possibilities of joining Jughead on the Southside and was not sure he trusted himself to consider all the ways this could go wrong. Veronica was studiously examining her pearl bracelet, like Betty had just suggested a group activity that was not entirely au courant.

Betty felt a strange chill settling on her, almost like the chill that came on Alice when Alice did not get her way. Though she knew this chill was not correct, not proper, not wholly Riverdale, she found that she didn't care to fight it.

"Polly came back from that place in a panic," Betty said. "Hysterical. And for all we know, those Southside people might be -- be brainwashing or attacking Jug or Jason --"

"I mean. Exactly," Archie said. "They could be evil."

"That's what we need to figure out!" Betty said. "If they aren't, and if we can work with them--"

Or, she thought, thinking of the way the Southsiders had been so rudely frightened, if they could at least force them to see that they needed to help, lest they be tormented by the presence of one Betty Cooper--

But she didn't get a chance to finish that thought.

"Consider me also shocked by this brazen, bonkers attempt at a plan," announced Cheryl Blossom.

Everyone at the table started, even the shadow. Cheryl loomed over them. Somehow, despite being clad head to toe in red leather and flashy white silk, despite having nails that clacked loudly on the chrome tabletop, she had taken them all by surprise. She flicked a glance to the shadow, frowned, and then returned to her chosen victim.

"Proposing a stroll into the mist-shrouded dead land south of the tracks? You must have bats in the belfry, Betty. But then we all knew that about you." Her gaze flicked back to the shadow. "What's this?"

"Nothing," Archie said hurriedly. "What? I don't see anything. Do you guys see anything?"

Everyone mumbled that they did not, but this only served to coat Cheryl's perfect features in barely-concealed rage.

"Don't give me that. It's obviously your vagrant drifter friend's shadow, you carrot-topped cretin," she snapped.

Archie stared at her and said, after a few seconds, "Cheryl. You have red hair too."

Veronica chimed in after. "And if you know exactly what the shadow is, why ask?"

"To give your adolescent Black Hand Gang a chance to tell the truth for once, I suppose," Cheryl said. "A test you all failed miserably. But back to Barmy Betty's little plan. Venture into the Southside? Ally with a shadowy den of murderers? Is this what you've been up to ever since I put you on Vixen probation because of your crazy mother? Betty, if I had known such a criminal heart lurked beneath your boring cable knit sweaters, I would have benched you sooner just for the entertainment value."

Like all of Cheryl's speeches, this one was a volley of so many barbs at once that it was practically calculated to overwhelm. But Betty decided not to be overwhelmed. She fixed on one particularly galling untruth, murderers, which of course had not been proven, and gamely tackled that.

"FP didn't kill your brother, Cheryl," she said. "That would make no sense, because I'm pretty sure he was the Southsider who brought back Polly safe and sound. And Jason was a lot more frightened of whatever's at Thornhill than whatever's in the Southside. Polly said that Jason wanted to get away from here, from Riverdale. He said we were what was frightening, that we'd been poisoned long ago...."

She broke off.

At the time, Polly had seemed to just be raving. Betty's mischievous, flawless sister had given way to someone paranoid and unhappy, consumed by thoughts of Jason and ready to hang on his every word. Her parents had accordingly blamed Jason.

"In your insanity, Polly," her father had shot across the table during one particularly tense dinner, "I detect the cold hand of the Blossom influence!"

And even that had felt wrong, because that wasn't affable old Hal Cooper speaking, but someone much icier, like beneath all his good ol' boy Cooper cheer Betty's father did indeed have the heart of a Blossom.

"Polly thought," Betty said, reconstructing her sister's ravings, trying to recall not just the parts that had stuck with her by virtue of being odd, but also the parts that she might have ignored or failed to note before, "that Jason wanted to get away from Clifford. That maybe Clifford was linked to something evil, and maybe that evil was on the Southside, sure, but that only something on the Southside could fight that evil and help Jason. I think he thought that we on the Northside were too complacent to do it properly."

Kevin, Archie, Veronica, and the shadow all leaned in, interested.

Cheryl rapped her nails on the table again, startling them all back.

"You should leave Blossom family history to those of us who are true Blossoms, Betty," she noted. Her voice was even, but Betty had the sense that if Cheryl could tear into Betty's heart with her teeth, she would do it in an instant.

She did not do that. Something behind her eyes flared, like a fire lit in a cold, cold grate, in a cold, cold room, in a distant house all others were barred from entering.

"They're called the Ghoulies," Cheryl said. "And they come out of the ground to do the Blossoms' bidding."

There was pride in her voice, because she was Cheryl, and she was like this, and so Betty should not have been surprised and yet she was. They all spoke at once.

"You knew about them?" Betty said.

"Wait, aren't they evil?" said Archie.

"Cheryl, you don't think this is weird? Zombies your family apparently commands?" said Veronica.

"What are Ghoulies?" Kevin said, because he still hadn't been briefed on this piece.

Cheryl surveyed the chaos of their reactions and picked Veronica as the one most worthy of an answer. Or perhaps as her next victim. With Cheryl, it was difficult to tell.

"Unlike your upstart mafiosi relations, Veronica, we Blossoms have been in Riverdale since time immemorial. Is it so strange that the land itself would respond to our wishes? Would do as we will it?"

Veronica's reply was a decidedly unimpressed one.

"Is this about you being a founding family? Because I hate to break it to you, Cheryl, but so are the Lodges. That's why we have property in your backwater little hamlet. According to my mother, we helped found it in the forties, same as you."

"Backwater?" Betty put in. She felt a little betrayed by that, and judging by the looks on their faces, Archie and Kevin did too.

Veronica looked briefly contrite.

"Look, I'm sorry, but the Lodges left this town shortly after founding it, and I can kind of see why we did," she said. "This town is not like other places."

"It's better," Archie insisted.

Here he lost the support of both Kevin and Jughead's shadow. Kevin had a look on his face like only politeness kept him from saying his piece. And the shadow was drumming its shadow fingers on the table, making them do an antsy, contrary dance like it really wanted to say something.

"A pointless endeavor, gloomy gutterpup," Cheryl told it. She leaned back, seeming satisfied by how neatly the table had been thrown into opposing camps on the topic of Riverdale. Probably she wanted them to oppose each other on any topic. Probably it entertained Cheryl to have them divided on this one, and in particular to have the others divided against Veronica.

"V, keeping in mind that the rest of us live here and love it," Betty began carefully.

Kevin shot her a look, and she amended.

"Mostly love it, I mean. Care to explain your position?"

Veronica tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Love to," she said. "B, even ignoring the fact of your weird shadow twins, this place, your place, doesn't make any sense."

Everyone stared at her. Veronica took in the stares with the effortless confidence of someone who knew when right was right, and who would not be dissuaded from it.

"Nothing changes! Not the weather, and sometimes, I swear, not even the time of day. You have so many school dances that even I'm tired of them. Your town halls debate the same things, over and over. You have a bunch of laws that are completely pointless -- trust me, I was looking through them trying to understand some legal things my parents might use to buy the Southside -- things like, 'every boy must strive to be a Bulldog.' 'Every girl must strive to be a Vixen.' And most of you actually follow these laws. Sure, this place is the pleasant backdrop to a teenage dream, but--"

Again, Betty caught onto one detail and followed it.

"Buy the Southside?" she said. "What?"

"So her family's sinister motivations come out at last," Cheryl murmured. This time Betty ignored her.

"Ronnie, you mentioned that your parents had business with the Southside, but why would they want to own it?" she said.

Archie nodded. "It's just fog and cold and I guess the Blossoms' army of zombies. What could be in there that's so valuable to the Lodges?"

Veronica arched an eyebrow.

"That is the question," she said. "What do my parents, who have everything, want with a place that has nothing?"

Chapter Text

Veronica was certain that her parents would obtain the Southside eventually, because everything always worked the way the Lodges wanted. Everything flowered for them, no matter where they went.

When Veronica was small, the Lodges had lived in perfect comfort on Park Avenue. Then a flurry of lawsuits had descended on her father's investment company. Hiram hadn't seemed concerned, but Veronica had learned, from the children at school, what a suicide was. Her family had apparently caused several. Thanks to this, the Lodges had to move to the Cape, to a house four times bigger than the Park Avenue apartment, stuffed to the gills with modish white leather furniture for Veronica's mother to drape herself over.

"We're going through such hard times, Ronnie," Hermione would say.

Hard times meant temporarily moving to where there was cleaner air, but fewer parties. It took several years to resolve the lawsuits, and then her father's perfectly legally-acquired waste disposal company shares put them in hot water, this time on the Cape. There were protests and rude signs, all carried by bedraggled, hideous people who had been rendered homeless by some environmental disaster the waste disposal company had caused. In response, the Lodges moved back to Park Avenue, where their apartment had been expanded and redecorated. It was now paneled in cherry wood. Sometimes Veronica's mother would get drunk and stare at it all and say, "I can't take these hard times, Ronnie."

Hard times meant causing a beautiful stink and claiming it was a lot of trouble for you, the one who'd caused it. At school, Veronica emulated her mother and so became like a queen. Queen of the suicides and the environmental disasters, but if she was lovely enough and had taken enough uppers, everyone would agree that really it was hard on her.

But it wasn't. Nothing was. Because whatever calamity the Lodges caused, it never seemed to really touch them. The Lodges had mastered reinvention, moving from Park Avenue to the Cape, from the Cape to Park Avenue. When the mayoral corruption scandal first came to light, they bought a townhouse. When the ignominy of price-fixing settled on them, they flew to Paris. Other people seemed to suffer so that Veronica would not have to. So that her parents could pick her up whenever she was most bored and simply send her somewhere else, somewhere with nicer beaches or a bigger room or better shopping. So that when she heard criticism about her father, she could stomp furiously into his study, wiping at her eyes and bemoaning all the hard times they were facing, and be rewarded with a new string of pearls.

The trouble with this sort of thing was that you could keep it up for a long, long time, but not forever. And you could convince a great many people that your suffering was the worst, the absolute worst, but you couldn't convince all of them. The only thing that distinguished the latest scandal from all the others was that this time, finally, someone thought to cut the Lodges off from most of their assets. Someone with the power to do that stopped being convinced that the Lodges were undergoing terrible suffering, and set about trying to remedy the plain hard truth that they never had experienced that.

Oh, and Paige Howard, who Veronica had always bullied horribly, tried to hang herself in the school computer lab. Not because of the bullying. Because her father was being indicted for doing business with Hiram Lodge. Veronica walked in as they cut Paige down and watched her gasping for air, hands flailing at her throat, and something in Veronica painfully reinvented itself.

So now -- Riverdale. Their apartment was comparable to the last, and the furnishings only slightly less expensive. Her mother lamented this in the usual way, by mixing wine and pills and lying very beautifully on the sofa.

"Such hard times. Maybe I should get a job," she'd said, their first night in Riverdale. She said this whenever they moved. For the first time, Veronica had realized that maybe this was a genuine desire of hers.

"What an unnecessary idea, corazon," Veronica's father had murmured. "Lodge women need to work like flowers need to sweat."

And that was that.

Now, the night after Betty Cooper proposed they take on the Southside, Veronica approached her father.

"How did things go with Clifford Blossom, daddy?" she asked. She kept her tone light. It was so light it glanced off her father entirely.

"Splendidly," Hiram said, brisk about it. "No need to concern yourself."

Her mother took a drink and surveyed the champagne-colored walls.

"Is it true," Veronica tried, "that you want to open up the Southside, daddy?"

This was a guess, albeit an educated one. Hiram wanted to both buy the Southside and very literally invade it. There was only one thread in common there. He wanted it exposed, somehow. He wanted it thrust into the public eye. Veronica knew her father. She knew the way his mind worked.

And she knew she was right when he betrayed a second of surprise. Hiram did not like surprises. Surprise fit him like an ugly sweater, the kind with pom-poms and errant bits of yarn, the kind Riverdale's matrons wore to indoor concerts where the air conditioning was on too high. His mouth quirked down, once, making him look almost petulant.

Hermione came to his aid.

"What is this sudden interest in your father's affairs, Veronica?" she said. Now she wasn't languid, though she remained, as ever, beautiful, because if there was one thing Hermione excelled at it was being modishly ornamental, like a saffron crocus in a Baccarat vase.

Veronica took on her father's petulance. She wasn't quite sure she felt it. She merely echoed it instinctively, mouth turning down, good looks momentarily marred by the annoyance of being questioned at something.

"I took a careful and calculated guess, and I can see I'm right," she said, crossing her arms.

"Why be right about what's not your business?" offered her mother, and took another drag of her wine glass.

Now Veronica's annoyance crystallized. Before it could erupt into some deeper emotion, her father was standing fluidly, his usual handsome smile blooming on his face.

"Your mother is right, mija, as indeed she ever is," he said. He crossed to a cabinet on the other side of the room and popped open a drawer with a motion that put Veronica in mind of a magician about to reveal something magnificent.

"Here is what you should be concerning yourself with," he said, turning and holding a flat velvet box out to her. "I had meant to keep it a secret a little longer, but why not give it to you now? You've done so well adjusting to life in this small pond, mi sirena."

Veronica took the box, already knowing what she would find inside. Pearls. This time a triple-strand, tinged gently pink.

"I must dash. The Mayor won't wait," said her father. This was a lie. Everyone waited for Hiram Lodge. He shrugged on his bespoke suit jacket and gestured at Smithers to prepare the car. After a kiss to both Hermione and Veronica, he was gone.

Hermione took another swig and stared at Veronica, looking very satisfied about something. Veronica's missing petulance suddenly hit her. She stomped to her room and slammed the door, then threw the pearls on the dresser with the others.

Rings. Earrings. Bracelets. Classic single strands, lustrous and warm to the touch. Complicated teardrop pendants and evening-wear chokers. Anklets and brooches, bangles and lavaliers, tiaras and watches. Her father showered her with them. Her father insisted she take good care of them. And wherever she went, her father always encouraged her to bring them all, as though they were a trousseau or something. So that Veronica was her pearls. They marked every moment she'd ever inconvenienced her parents by asking too many questions. Ask a question, and receive a pearl. Or something like a pearl.

She'd worn a single-strand bracelet to Thornhill. Nothing more. When it had come off briefly, the world had subtly shifted. Jughead Jones, standing a few feet away and trying to help her, had blinked completely out of view. He'd come back only when she'd pulled the bracelet back on. So then, among all the commotion in the hallway, she'd tested the bracelet a few times. On. Off. On. Off. On.

Jughead. No Jughead. Jughead. No Jughead.

Veronica now had a hunch about her pearls. They rendered her immune to whatever was going on in Riverdale. Only when she removed them did she stop being Veronica Lodge, above the town's strange rules, and become like everyone else.

And it occurred to her that she couldn't ask her parents about this. After all, it wasn't like she trusted them to tell her the truth.

No, better to test the theory herself. So after after Betty Cooper proposed storming the Southside, on a lovely hot summer night that was spangled with fireflies and cricket sounds, Veronica texted Kevin Keller and Archie Andrews. Betty didn't have her phone, and so Archie received very strict instructions to bring his next-door neighbor along. Veronica grabbed several pieces of jewelry and went to wait for her friends at Pop's.

"Here," she said, when Kevin arrived. Kevin blinked at the bracelet she held out to him.

"I don't think black pearls are really me," he said, a tactful dismissal if Veronica ever heard one.

"Too bad, Kevin. I need your absolute cooperation," she told him. "This is going to be a blind experiment, and my subjects have to do as I say."

Kevin blinked, but didn't argue. He slipped on the bracelet. Betty, when she and Archie and their ever-present shadow friend arrived, said, "What happened to informed consent, V?"

Veronica brushed this away.

"We are going to do your plan," she said.

"We are?" said Kevin.

"Yes! We're going into the Southside, but you're all going to go in armed with a little bit of Lodge family luster."

"We're going to go into the Southside wearing jewelry, Ronnie?" Archie said. He looked uncomfortable just thinking about it. Veronica had expected a fight from him, though. Archie was one of these handsome corn-fed small town boys who had grand ideas about masculinity, probably.

"Do it for me, Archiekins," she said, bringing a hand to flutter above her heart and batting her lashes at him.

"Well, I'm going to the Southside for Jughead," Archie explained earnestly, looking at his new shadow friend and fixing the brooch Veronica had given him onto the front of his Bulldog jacket. "But I guess I'll wear this for you."

Betty, meanwhile, just clasped on the necklace Veronica handed her with a puzzled little smile.

"I'm glad you're onboard, V," she said. Then she tightened her ponytail,and launched into a recitation of everything she knew so far: Polly and Ghoulies, Jason and soulmates, so on and so forth, like a commander laying out the details of some critical military mission.

This took them to the railroad tracks, where the shadow -- looking very faint with only the light from Pop's to give it form -- refused to cross. Betty, Kevin, and Veronica stood on the cold, misty Southern side and gaped at it. Archie, however, just said, "Catch you when I come back?" like this didn't surprise him at all.

The shadow saluted and was somehow sarcastic about it. This only made Archie grin.

Then he turned, squared his shoulders, and walked into the mist. For a single moment he looked very heroic to Veronica, as though he was foolishly and gallantly assuming the mantle of leadership, but after a few paces he stopped and said, "What the hell? Betty, come look at this!"

And Betty, running to where he was, to where the cracked, dirty street sloped down into the Southside proper, said, "It's completely different!"

Veronica would have to take their word for it. She'd never seen the Southside as they'd apparently seen it, and all she saw now was a rundown, depressing kind of place. Needlessly cold, every house too small, every front yard too unkempt, every fence too broken. The street was littered with broken bottles and the cars with broken headlights. Every coat of paint on every storefront was peeling, and every neon sign was partially unlit, so that they passed a LQOR store and also another, separate IQUOR store, a PEEPSHO and also a PEPSOW. There was a completely uncalled for profusion of empty lots, the kind filled with gravel and garbage and people warming themselves around trashcans. Every streetlight was flickering like it was trying to decide whether to go out or not. The whole atmosphere of the Southside seemed to ask, why try? Why go on? So that Veronica wanted to give the whole town permission to just give up on life already.

Betty said, despite the clear evidence of their eyes, "God. It's so much more."

"Is it?" Kevin whispered to Veronica.

"I'm glad I didn't see it before," Veronica whispered back.

Somehow they'd fallen behind Archie and Betty, who were striding purposefully through the mist and cold. Betty kept examining the pavement and making executive decisions about what direction to go in -- something to do with getting down to the waterfront for some reason. Archie kept accosting skulking Southsiders and demanding to know where Jughead Jones was. This produced no results except for grim stares, curses, and once a punch that Archie only narrowly dodged.

"I feel like I'm Jimmy Stewart and an angel is showing me life if I'd never been born," Kevin said.

"It's A Wonderful Life? No, try City of God," Veronica said. "Anyway, if all I get after this little trip is wings, I'm going to pitch a fit. Wings are not worth the trouble. An excursion this daringly depressing demands Harry Winston baubles, at least."

Not pearls. Her pearls, she thought, you probably couldn't buy. No store could sell these. She kept slipping them on and off and the town kept changing, going shuttered and empty and dark, and then returning, yes, to its slouching half-life. Dead summer became windy autumn. Boarded windows became lit ones. Empty corners acquired mumbling, drunken figures, draped in newspaper. Veronica shuddered either way, until she realized one couldn't realistically shudder at everything -- that was just developing some kind of permanent tremor -- and stopped.

Kevin soon picked up on the pearls thing, when he saw what she was doing. Betty had evidently figured it out as soon as she'd walked into the Southside and realized she could now see the place. Only Archie was late to the party, because he kept accosting homeless people and asking them about Jughead, and Betty had to keep saying, "No, Arch--" and pulling him away and apologizing profusely.

They managed to get him to stop for two seconds by pulling him bodily into an alley, an act he submitted to with a quiet scowl. There, Veronica carefully unpinned the pearl brooch and watched surprise stretch across his features.

"Ronnie, you're--" he began. "I mean-- You just--"

"Gifted you with incomparable magic?" Veronica said. "Permitted you to see life as it truly is? You're welcome, Archiekins."

"It's totally cool," Archie told her warmly. "And it's really going to help us find Jughead!"

Then he blundered off again, while Betty said, "Wait, Arch, maybe we should have a game plan--"

But Archie was already striding in the direction of a sleazy-looking dive bar at the end of the street. A sign outside proclaimed it the Whyte Wyrm, a drunk on its stoop leered at Betty from afar, and the rear yard seemed to threaten them with far too many angry motorcycle noises. Veronica promptly decided that she did not want to go in there.

"Nuh-uh," she said. "No. Until I can get a full battery of tetanus shots, I am going to stay right here."

Kevin nodded his agreement.

"If we go in there, Betty, we will die," he said, with perfect sincerity.

Betty frowned at them, but stretched out a hand and managed to haul Archie back.

"Lots of people mentioned this place!" he said, though Veronica was fairly sure more people had told him to do anatomically impossible things to himself, so really, who could trust the judgment of the Southsiders? But Archie apparently did.

He added, with confidence, "Jughead could be in there!"

Jughead was not in there. Jughead was not in there because after a second, a motorcycle came roaring around the side of the building, did a flashy swerve, and stopped. Then Jughead Jones was pulling off his helmet with a grin, and three other people were running around from the rear yard, whooping at him.

Or at least the first two were whooping. The last had his hands in his pockets and a glare on his face, and was saying, "Still haven't mastered the clutch lever, Jones."

"Give him a break, Sweet Pea," said one of the others, a doe-eyed girl even smaller than Veronica, whose approach to fashion seemed to involve altogether too many rips and frays to be tasteful. "He's just started learning."

But Jughead wasn't standing like someone who had just started learning. He was smiling, something Veronica was certain ran counter to his whole James Sveck teen loner schtick, and for once his skinny, ungainly limbs were relaxed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, echoing Sweet Pea, and walked a few steps over to his new friends.

"Jughead," Archie breathed out.

Then, at the top of his lungs, "JUGHEAD!"

He was running for the Wyrm. Betty took off after him. Kevin and Veronica both followed more sedately, as Veronica was still pretty sure she didn't want to go in there and Kevin seemed to agree with her. While Archie threw his arms around a stunned Jughead, Kevin said, as an aside to Veronica, "How long has he been gone? Has he even been gone long enough for this? Also, is that even him? Jughead Jones, or 1983 Matt Dillon?"

"What are you guys doing here?" Jughead was saying. "You can't be here!"

He wasn't the only one that thought so. His new friends were backing away, like they thought the Northsiders carried some kind of disease.

Veronica took an experimental step towards them. They took a step back. Veronica took another step towards them. They took another step back. She thought this must look pretty funny, three tough-seeming Southsiders in leather all backing away from a five-foot-two girl in on-trend Zac Posen.

"Why are we backing away?" hissed the girl with all the rips. "I bet they can't even see us yet."

For some unfathomable reason, Archie took this as his cue.

"Think again," he said, turning on them with a degree of menace that nothing in the situation warranted and that he did not wear especially well. Veronica blinked at him.

"You guys are gonna answer our questions!" Archie said, pointing a finger at the Southsiders. "And you're gonna help Jug--"

"Archie, they are helping me," Jughead hissed.

"--and Betty, instead of being rude to her--"

"Arch," Betty tried. "It's okay--"

"--and you're gonna tell us what we need to know about Jason Blossom!"

"They did that," Jughead said. He barreled between Archie and the Southsiders, but not before the tall, scowly Southsider pulled out a knife.

"Oh my god," Veronica said.

She had never faced hoodlums with knives before. But she had a policy about not being afraid of people who mixed denim and leather, because they were clearly not living their best lives and so they didn't deserve the honor of her fear. So she very deliberately gave no other response. But Jughead's face went white, and Betty and Kevin dove behind Archie. Archie raised his fists. This was very brave and yet would be ineffective against a knife, so Veronica wasn't entirely sure why he was doing it.

"Sweet Pea! Put that down," Jughead snapped.

"Honestly. How about we de-escalate?" Veronica suggested delicately.

"De-escalate?" said Sweet Pea. He waved his knife around dramatically, like he thought Archie's bad decisions needed to be outdone by somebody. "You bring not one but four Northsiders onto our turf, Jones. Not just the one that could hurt Toni, but the one that hurt Joaquin, and the one that'll hurt me, and--"

He waved his knife now at Veronica, like he couldn't figure her out.

"She could hurt somebody!"

"What?" Veronica said. "Please. The Lodges do not go in for acts of violence--"

Financial ruin, yes. Violence, no.

"--and I doubt any of you is going to lose your clearly already-unraveling minds by touching me, since I was born in the city. And while I can certainly sling verbal arrows like an Olympic archer, lucky for you Veronica Lodge is trying to turn over a new leaf."

This announcement did not produce the desired effect, which was to say it had no effect whatsoever on the placement, danger, or general knife-ness of the knife.

"They still have to leave!" Sweet Pea said.

"I'm not leaving without Jughead!" Archie shot back.

"You gonna go with him, Juggie?" said the tiny, lovely girl, a question which for some reason made both Archie and Betty bristle.

Jughead did not say yes. Jughead did not say anything for a full five seconds, which left Archie looking at him in slightly shocked betrayal. Jughead just massaged the bridge of his nose for a moment.

"You know what?" he said. The words seemed to come snapping out of some brittle, frustrated place inside of him. "My trailer. Now. All of us."

When no one moved, he said, "Now!"

Veronica, who had mastered the art of leadership through temper tantrum, balked a little at Jughead attempting the same. He was not terribly good at it. It was clear that he had never had much practice. Betty and Archie both looked slightly taken aback. Sweet Pea looked briefly admiring, but then a second later seemed angry at his own admiration.

But he magically disappeared his knife. And Betty and Archie nodded and said, respectively, "of course, Jug," and "okay, dude. For now."

Kevin said, low, "He already has a trailer? Seriously. How long has he even been here?"

No one answered him. But Veronica approved of his ability to be a calm, confused voice of de-escalation, so she linked her arm in his as they followed Jughead down the street to a fog-covered trailer park. It was cold everywhere on the Southside, but here a thin layer of ice was already forming in the ground, and the straggly trees waved red and brown leaves at them. The sole excitement in the trailer park was the crackle of televisions behind thin walls, and the sound of distant doors slamming. Veronica couldn't help but wrinkle her nose a bit at the cool, mist-banked ugliness of it all. How could people live here?

Somewhere, a child laughed. Children lived here? Surely not children.

Jughead led them into perhaps the humblest abode Veronica had ever entered in her life, and this was being generous. He shook his hands in everyone's direction until his Southside friends were on one couch and his Northside friends on another. Then he went back to communing with the bridge of his nose. One hand also settled on his lower back, like the stress of the past five minutes had aged him to the point where he was developing sciatica.

"What are you doing here?" he bit out at the Northside group.

"Helping you!" Archie retorted. "So you can find Jason and come home!"

"And I have to figure out what happened to Polly, Jug," Betty said, mulish. "My mom said she's completely shut down since they took her to the Sisters."

"And you brought Kevin and Veronica?" Jughead said, treating each name like the contents of a gift bag that demanded an immediate return to the store.

Veronica stared at him. Kevin, who apparently was more used to Jughead's Jugheadness, did not.

"Hi, I'm Kevin," he told the Southsiders politely.

"Nice welcome," added Veronica.

Actually, maybe it wasn't personal. Jughead hadn't seemed especially etiquette-minded in the brief time she'd known him, and manners could only be expected to clash with his new teen delinquent image.

But after this an awkward silence reigned. Jughead had everyone's attention, but did not seem to know what to do with it. The Southsiders stared at him and the Northsiders stared at him, and he proceeded to look like he wanted to melt into the dirty carpet beneath his sneakers. Then Betty attempted to say one or two things in the direction of the Southside couch, hesitant questions about whether they had seen FP bring back her sister, but all it took was a bob of her ponytail to make the Southside girl lean back away from her and force the two boys to look fiercely protective.

"So about my hot, crazy soulmate..." Kevin tried.

Everyone glared at him.

"Wrong time?" he said weakly. "Okay. Nevermind."

Then more silence.

Archie and Betty and Jughead and Veronica all broke at once.

"This has been lovely, but as I've learned what I need to learn," Veronica began, as Archie said, "Jug, why are you even wasting time with these kids now that we've come, dude?" and Jughead said, "Look, I appreciate the sentiment--" and Betty said, "We need to work together!"

"We need to what now?" said the Southside girl.

"Work together, Toni," Betty said slowly, giving the girl a name. "We have way too many mysteries on our hands for just one group to solve, okay? Like, why my mom wants to barricade this place and why my sister won't talk about what happened here--"

"Okay," Toni said coolly, "and how about this. Why we live the way we do, while you live the way you do."

Betty's eyes narrowed, but she didn't rise to the bait.

"Sure. Fine. Also what happened to Jason Blossom here--"

"And how my dad was involved," Jughead put in tiredly.

"And what the Blossoms are," put in the third Southsider, the boy that didn't seem to have a knife, or at least hadn't produced it yet.

"And why the Blossoms have a zombie gang," said Betty, making the Southsiders balk a little.

Veronica decided to toss her own mystery into the pile, since everyone was doing it and it should never be said that Veronica Lodge was late to a trend.

"Also, we should consider why my parents are trying to buy the Southside. Or, alternately, trying to invade it. Either seems to suit their aims."

At this, all the Southsiders began to look even more alarmed, but their alarm meant little to Archie.

"I want to know about Ronnie's pearls," he said. "Since they let us see you--"

Even more alarm from the Southsiders.

"--and I want to know what Jughead is."

Jughead reeled back a little, blinking. Something in his face suddenly seemed a little shattered, too-vulnerable. Everyone else fell silent at it. But Archie pressed on, like a dog on a scent.

"You know, Betty and I found your shadow. It's on the Northside when you're on the South, and on the South when you're on the North. It's not normal, dude. I mean. Maybe you are something weird."

This was nothing less than the truth, and it wasn't even said especially cruelly, but Jughead looked destroyed.

"No," snapped Toni, all of a sudden. "No, he isn't. How would you know, anyway? Maybe he's just a Southsider."

"Yeah," said Sweet Pea, leering a little. "And if you don't want him, ginger psycho? Maybe we'll take him."

Jughead looked both astonished and prepared to argue, but now Archie was on his feet.

"You know what?" he said. "I'm getting sick of you. I never said we didn't want him!"

"We never said that," Betty echoed.

"Is Jughead the most popular girl in school right now?" a wide-eyed Kevin whispered to Veronica. "Jughead?"

This was a fair and funny question, but Veronica could already see five minutes into the future, a future that at this moment appeared to involve panic and switchblades.

"Enough!" She said, throwing her hands out. "We are getting nowhere. Like Betty said, we're just wasting our time if we don't start actively considering an alliance--"

This wasn't quite what Betty had said, but Veronica was willing to throw a little Lodge flair in there.

"--so let's start considering. I second B's supremely practical suggestion. Any nays should speak now or forever hold their peace."

"Okay, that's not how you build an alliance," Toni said, picking at the rips in her jeans in frustration and so making the rips worse. "But since I am a nay, I will speak now. What's in it for us?"

In response, Veronica reached over, unclasped Archie's brooch, and tossed it to her.

"Hey!" Archie said, blinking.

Toni turned the brooch over in her hands. Veronica leaned in, interested. This time the experiment was double-blind, because she knew what the pearls did for her and others on the Northside, but she had no idea what they did to Southsiders.

"What is this," Toni asked flatly.

"What do you think it is?" Veronica said, as Kevin said, "Well, it's obviously a brooch."

"No," Toni said, and passed it to Sweet Pea, who took it gruffly only to frown, hold it for almost a minute in silence, and then pass it to Fangs.

"What the...?" Fangs said. He rubbed his fingers on it. Pricked his thumb with it. Bit it.

Then he held it out to Jughead. Jughead took it.

"Guys," Archie said. "What's happening? I can't see the Southsiders anymore. But I can see you, Juggie. So even if you're not like us, you aren't a Southsider."

Jughead flicked him a slightly miserable look.

"Thanks, Archie. I'm sure that's comforting for you."

Archie looked slightly hurt. Jughead didn't bother to respond to this look. He was, like Fangs, examining the pin. Holding it up and looking at it from below, pressing it against his cheek briefly. He passed it back to Toni and said, "You've read the most out of all of us when it comes to the weirdest body of literature this side of the tracks. Any of that lead to a verdict on this?"

Toni turned to Veronica. "These are supposed to make you feel different. Right?"

"They make me feel amazing," Veronica said, "because, not to burnish my own manicure, I happen to look very good in them."

Toni rolled her eyes.

"Not like that," she said.

Then, without warning, she stood, careful to go nowhere near Betty, threw the brooch on the ground, and ground it into the carpet with her boot.

"Hey!" Veronica said. "Catch me giving you a gift ever again, girl--"

But now Sweet Pea and Fangs were joining Toni, and strangely Jughead did too. They all began stomping on the brooch, just four teen delinquent maniacs. Veronica's hands flew to her mouth in absolute horror.

"Kevin," Jughead said over his shoulder. "Come help!"

Kevin looked panicky.

"Should I?" he asked.

"Of course not!" Veronica said.

"I don't know!" said Betty.

"Why's Jughead attacking the ground?" Archie said.

"That isn't going to do anything except break the clasp," Veronica snapped at the Southsiders. "Those are natural pearls. Fine jewelry!"

But now Toni, Jughead, and their friends were subsiding, all clustered around the spot where the brooch was on the carpet, blocking it from view. Which was fine, because Veronica wasn't sure she wanted to see what happened when four hoodlums attacked her generosity, fine taste, and luxury accessories.

Sweet Pea looked at her over his shoulder.

"Feel different?" he said.

Veronica blinked at him. She didn't.

Wait. No.

Maybe she did. The room felt brighter, warmer. It smelled the way her pearls always did, like a wash of rain and flowers.

"It's like newness," said the third Southsider, the one that had tried to eat the brooch. "It's change. But not change the way we get it. Because it isn't sliding into rot this time. It's going the opposite way."

"What is?" Betty burst out, apparently unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

The Southsiders stepped back. On the floor, growing out of the carpet, there was a small shock of purple and yellow crocuses. Veronica felt her mouth drop open.

"Oh my gosh," Betty said. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. We have the summer--"

"And we have the dying autumn," Toni supplied.

"Thornhill has the winter," Betty said.

"And your girl," Toni said, pointing one serpent-ring-bedecked finger at Veronica, "apparently has the spring."

"Which," Betty added, with a puzzled frown, "Doesn't explain why we can see you when we grasp it, or why you're the only ones who could tell it was the spring--"

Toni snorted.

"You have a perfect, leisurely summer all day, every day, and you think you're gonna notice something as subtle as what new flowers smell like? We noticed because we're so far from spring it's criminal."

"But whatever," Sweet Pea put in. "Since it turns out you are bringing something to the table--"

"And we'll want more of those pearls, Veruca Salt," Toni said.

"Then, sure," finished Sweet Pea. "I guess we can consider an alliance with you, even if you are Northsiders."

Jughead looked as shocked by this as Veronica felt. Betty nodded, adjusted her ponytail again, and said, "Alright. Then let's do proper introductions, and start sharing information."

Archie said, "Guys? What just happened?"

-

Veronica did not get home until the Northside was already flooded with morning sunlight, but she wasn't bothered by this. Her father, she thought, would be out somewhere with important people, conducting important business. Her mother would be sleeping in, and sleeping off whatever cocktail of wine and pills had lulled her to sleep.

So she let herself quietly into her room, wondering if this would be another one of those golden days where the hours lagged so much that between six am and eight am, you could conceivably squeeze in a full night's rest and so obtain your beauty sleep.

"Mija," said her father. He was sitting in the armchair by the window. Veronica's mother was positioned at his shoulder, looking radiant but smiling thinly.

"How did you enjoy your little trip to the Southside, Veronica?" Hiram asked.

Chapter Text

After Archie and Betty and the others had gone, Sweet Pea, who Jughead already knew was not a clear thinker at the best of times, did something downright perplexing even for him.

He stomped out the crocuses. Violently, yet with evident purpose. Jughead was shocked for an instant and then instinctively moved to stop him, trying to push him off. In response Sweet Pea shoved him so hard his back hit the opposite wall.

"Did you know?" he shouted at Jughead.

"Know what?" Jughead shouted back. "What the hell, Sweet Pea? First knives and now this?"

He looked to Toni and Fangs for support, but they just stared coolly back. He realized that they were doing nothing to stop Sweet Pea from grinding the destroyed petals to shreds with the heel of his boot.

"Barricades?" Fangs asked.

"Invasions?" said Toni, shaking her head as if this would help her clear out her upset.

"Clifford Blossom controlling the Ghoulies?" Fangs added.

"Did. You. Know," Sweet Pea said, punctuating every word with a vicious stomp on the flowers.

Jughead swallowed hard.

He'd known some of this. He'd known and he still hadn't told them, because he'd stupidly assumed that if they could find Jason it wouldn't matter. But of course it mattered. They had a stake in this place. It was their home. They deserved to know if it was being threatened.

He said, after a few seconds, "Clifford Blossom promised me that if I gave him his son, he would put a stop to all those plans."

Sweet Pea, done obliterating the spring, drew himself up his full (considerable) height.

"You obviously can't trust that guy, Jones!"

"I had to trust somebody," Jughead snapped back, although he didn't disagree with Sweet Pea at all -- this was, even he knew, only the rhetoric of knowing he'd done wrong and not wanting to face the pain of admitting it. "If today taught us anything, maybe it's that we have to trust at least some people we normally wouldn't. Otherwise maybe there's no recourse from this place!"

The Serpents shared a look, and it was a look Jughead was very definitely excluded from.

"There's a recourse," Toni said. Her voice was very high. She, of all of them, seemed the most disappointed in him. Jughead felt misery welling up in him when he realized this. He leaned against the wall and examined a spot on the ceiling. He wanted Archie and Betty back. He wanted to not have done the wrong thing. He wanted to not feel suddenly all the burdens of the Southside, which he'd done nothing so far to alleviate.

"What is it, then?" he asked Toni.

"The water."

"The water you won't tell me about?" Jughead shot back.

"Dude," Fangs said. "You have to agree. You have to become a Serpent. Only then do you get to learn."

"It's better experienced than explained, anyway," Toni said. "But yeah. You have to join us if you want to know that."

Some of the misery receded a little.

"That's still on the table?" Jughead asked.

"If you survive the initiation," Sweet Pea sneered.

That didn't worry him. He didn't know what the initiation was, but it still didn't worry him. No, what worried him was how perfectly the Serpents had eroded the bedrock of his identity. He was Jughead Jones. He didn't do packs. Not even if they threatened to take him in anyway. Especially if they threatened to take him in anyway.

Only his dad and maybe Archie had ever wanted to take him in.

He did want to help them. And he wanted to understand what had trapped them here, and he wanted to get them his father back, and he wanted to save this place -- to help it thrive. He was, as Archie said, a weirdo. But on the Southside he could be a weirdo and more. It was a heady feeling. It made his chest ache, but he didn't want it to stop.

"Okay," he said. "I'm in."

-

One of the terms the Northside teens agreed to was that they would ensure that FP Jones stayed relatively safe. Archie took this task on, even though Jughead's new Southside friends hadn't seemed convinced when he'd claimed that FP appeared to like him.

"FP's made some bad calls before," Sweet Pea had said flippantly, "but not that bad."

The fact that he had immediately alienated the Southside, combined with whatever was going on between him and Jughead, clearly left Archie dispirited. So Betty told herself that she was cutting last period and going with him to the station in order to cheer him up. All their lives, she'd been in the business of Archie-cheering. That was who Betty Cooper was. That was what Betty Cooper did. Why else would she go see FP Jones?

No one needs to know it's really to defy your mother and show that Alice Cooper isn't allowed to stand in the way of investigation for Polly, she decided. And so she made appropriately supportive faces of chagrin, and gave appropriately supportive nods, all along the way to the station. Next to her, Jughead's shadow slouched and seemed generally put off by this. Betty wished it would stop. It was like it was reading her mind or something.

"I wasn't trying to be mean," Archie said, for the umpteenth time. "He is different."

"Everyone knows you never try to be mean, Arch," Betty said.

Archie frowned. Betty frowned. The shadow tensed up, with some strange emotion that was perhaps shock or perhaps delight.

Maybe that bit of Archie-cheering had come out wrong.

Before Betty could correct herself, a cherry red convertible came purring up to them, stalking them along the bright street.

"Cheryl?" Betty said.

"Riddle me this, Betty," Cheryl said, tapping one corner of her stylish round sunglasses with a sharp red nail. "Where were you all going when you crossed the tracks the other day? You become more like your mother each and every minute, singlemindedly focused on the detritus of the Southside."

"Detritus?" Archie echoed.

"It means trash, you comic strip simpleton," Cheryl snapped. "Like your little Southside friend Jughead Jones."

Archie and Betty stared at her, so she stretched her red lips into a chirpy smile.

"Oh yes!" she said. "I know where he really comes from. Jason and I always knew."

Betty stopped walking. So did the shadow and Archie. Cheryl's car kept crawling on a few feet until, with an annoyed huff, Cheryl backed it up to where Betty was standing on the street.

"Cat got your tongue, Betty? No rebuttal to the unalterable reality that, in every arena that counts, I in fact know more than you?"

"Archie," Betty said.

"Yes?" said Archie.

"Go to the station."

"What?" said Archie.

"Go," Betty said.

He frowned again, but went.

Another goal of the new alliance was to try and understand the Blossoms, and specifically FP Jones' potential connection to the Blossoms. So, really, what Betty did next was not rooted in anger or Cooper woman insanity or anything like that. Even if she knew Archie would not approve, and so she'd sent Archie on to the station without her.

"Cheryl," Betty said evenly. "Why don't you get out of the car so we can talk? Cousin to cousin."

The shadow brought a hand to the place where its mouth must be, like it was watching a particularly riveting scene at the Bijou. But Cheryl was deliberately ignoring the shadow, probably to show it was beneath her, so she did not pick up on this. She got out of the car, as Betty had known she would. Cheryl reveled in confrontations, and would always do whatever necessary to make them worse.

Well. Good.

"You should know by now that I see no reason to honor such a deplorable family connection, Betty, but yes. Let's talk. Let's talk about why your crazy Swimfan sister saw fit to abandon my brother on the other side of the tracks--"

The next moment was perhaps the oddest of Betty's life. She'd never wanted to callously, horribly, and violently break the rules of social conduct before, but now as she stood there, fingering the pearls Veronica had given her, it hit her like spring breaking through the chill of winter, like autumn eroding the haze of summer. She could break the rules. You always could. Why had she never noticed that before?

Cheryl was shrieking at the top of her lungs and had lost her sunglasses by the time Betty dragged her into the station by the arm. The bored deputy on duty stared at this scene for a second, like he couldn't figure it out.

"Good afternoon, deputy Hartheller," Betty said, like nothing strange was happening.

She was stronger than Cheryl. How odd.

"You girls alright?" the deputy ventured.

"Just fine," Betty said, at the same time that Cheryl said, "Of course not, you piss-poor flatfoot! She's shanghaiing me!"

Riverdale's deputies rarely ever saw real confrontations. Most of them had never so much as had to issue a traffic citation. One time, a carnival float had collided with a bandstand, and in their frenzied, joyous urge to have something to do, Sheriff Keller and his men had torn both float and bandstand to shreds before they'd realized that this was not how policing should work.

So this deputy just looked at calm, cheery Betty Cooper (who was always calm and cheery) and cruel, worked-up Cheryl Blossom (who was always cruel and worked-up), and said, "Well, as long as you girls have fun, then. Here to see the prisoner?"

"That's right," Betty said with a smile, as Cheryl shouted her rage.

"Right that way," said deputy Hartheller, and went back to leafing through his copy of the Register.

Betty dragged Cheryl down the hallway and into the cellblock. Both Archie and FP Jones looked shocked at their entrance.

Cheryl recovered remarkably fast for someone who had been manhandled in this manner.

"You," she said to FP.

She launched herself at the bars of his cell, clawing at him with her nails despite the clear obstacles in the way. Archie and Betty moved to pull her off, stunned, but FP didn't back away.

"You think this isn't my right?" Cheryl shrieked, as she was tugged back. "He probably hurt Jason!"

As Betty tried to adjust to Cheryl going so swiftly from victim to aggressor, FP gave a long, bitter sigh.

"I did hurt him, maybe," he said. "Not saying I'm a killer, but I'm not saying I'm innocent here either. But I didn't hurt him as much as your own father wanted to, and that's the honest truth."

Betty believed this by now and clearly so did Archie, mainly based on what Cheryl herself had told them. But when Cheryl caught sight of their quiet agreement, she only marshaled up her rage again.

"Why?" she snapped. "Because we're Blossoms? Because we're cold and cruel--"

"And winter itself," FP cut in. "Maybe that's what your brother wanted to really get away from. Southside's dying, but Thornhill -- Thornhill's already dead."

Cheryl flinched. Then she collected herself, pushing her shimmering hair back. All of her violent emotion seemed to have drained out of her face, but it was still in her voice when she spoke.

"What did you do to him?" she said. Every word contained such hate that it made Betty almost frightened of her, and Betty had just bullied her down two streets and into the cellblock.

But FP only grinned a little.

"Gave him the Southside treatment. To tell you the truth, I don't think he took to it."

Then Cheryl was lunging for him again, and Archie and Betty were too confused to stop her immediately. FP still didn't back away, just closed his hands firmly around her flailing wrists.

He said, low, "That boy agreed to leave you behind. Decided to leave his girl behind, too, in the end. I'm not proud of what I did to him, and if I can make it up to you I'd like to, but I can't say I think too much of him."

Cheryl gave an angry scream and tried to swipe at his face with her nails. Archie moved hurriedly to stop her again, but Betty didn't. She was suddenly thinking back to those last moments with Polly, when she and Jughead had brought her home after their trip to the Southside, how her mother and father had called Polly stupid and Polly, wailing, had almost seemed to agree.

Stupid for trusting Jason?

FP was still talking. Evenly, almost politely. Impervious to Cheryl's shrieks as Archie pulled her back.

"To tell you the truth, I'm still trying to figure out what your brother thought he could get from us. Southside's got nothing, and you Blossoms are partly to blame for that."

"Do you do my father's bidding?" Cheryl bit out.

"Do I what now?" said FP.

Here Betty cut in.

"Cheryl says her father controls the Ghoulies."

FP looked thrown for the first time since Cheryl and Betty had walked in.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, no. The Ghoulies just want destruction. Trying to control them would be like putting a leash on a tornado."

"They do what my father tells them," Cheryl snapped.

FP reeled back. He was quiet for a second, making a fist and bringing it to his mouth, and then he spoke.

"That doesn't make sense. The only way they would listen to Clifford is if he wants what they want. If your father, girl, wants to destroy everything. The whole Southside. And the whole Northside too."

For a second, all three of the teenagers stared at him in shock. Then Cheryl began to sob, as though the rollercoaster of her emotions had inevitably brought her to this point.

"Well, think about us!" she demanded. She was looking not at FP, but at Archie and Betty, like she wanted to convince them more than anybody. Archie looked to Betty, wide-eyed and spooked, and Betty felt herself echoing his expression.

"Think about where we live!" Cheryl continued. "Freezing! Cruel! Always winter, and never Christmas! Maybe daddy's trying to do right by our family for once! Maybe destroying everything is better than all the damn -- damn cold!"

She had slid to the floor. Archie moved almost on instinct to help her up, but Betty turned to FP instead. She was thinking about something Polly had said about Jason. How, at first, Polly had seemed to think Jason was a hero.

"Mr. Jones?" Betty asked shakily. "Do you think Jason was trying to stop Clifford egging on the Ghoulies somehow? To save us all that way?"

FP retreated to his cot and sat, putting his head in his hands. When he next spoke, it sounded tired and far-away.

"Hard to believe that. The Blossoms have always wanted to control the Southside. The Blossoms and other people."

"Other people?" Betty prompted.

FP's voice kept getting lower and lower, more growl than speech.

"The Founding Families."

"Blossoms," Betty said. "Lodges."

"Coopers, too," FP said. "You're the Blossoms, after all."

Betty blinked. It was, as Cheryl said, a deplorable connection. But she couldn't ignore it. He was right.

"Those families," FP said. "They were here when this town wasn't even a town. When it was just a bunch of farms on one side of Sapskill mountain, spread out along the Sweetwater River."

Then he pushed back, until his back was to the wall. He stared at the ceiling. Betty had the sense that he was trying to think through the best way to tell his story. In this, he was a lot like his son.

Eventually, he began to talk.

-

Like I said, this town started, as a lot of towns do, with just a handful of families. Four, to be specific. Each family had their own farm. Some had a bigger farm, and some had a nicer view. Some had a faster walk to the lake in the summer, and some had more shelter from the storms in the winter. But they worked together, those four families. They were the core of this region, its heart, its soul, its mind, and its blood.

Things changed when Blossom stopped farming and started manufacturing. Maple syrup. That's a trade that needs more work than you'd think. Blossom set up sugarhouses, bottle-making factories. You name it. He started bringing in new people to work this trade, and he picked out a spot close to the river for it all, where the water made kind of swerve as it rushed to Crystal Lake.

There, Blossom built houses for his workers. There wasn't a town yet, but more people were coming. The first people. They came just looking for work, and Blossom gave it to them, until he had a company town set up.

Now, he was still on good terms with the other three families. And all four of them started hearing from the new workers how pretty this place was, how nice in the summers. They started thinking maybe they could have something here, some place that made more money for all of them. They put their money together and paid some of it to the railroad line, to get a track to come in from the city. Abner Andrews started talking about maybe someday building a hotel--

Yes, Red. That was one of the families I mean, Red. Yours.

Your great-grandfather and his friends had this idea about a resort paradise, a perfect town they could sell to city folk looking to rest and soak up all the healthy air of the country. Problem was, there were now other folk here. Southsiders. The workers. And the workers wanted a piece of the perfect town, too. They wanted to enjoy Lodge's new restaurant. They talked about maybe getting to see the new hotel when it was built. About rubbing elbows with the Blossoms themselves over ice cream socials.

The four families didn't like that. See, the town they were thinking of was only for certain kinds of people. But the Southsiders, they were unionizing. They were threatening not to work if they kept being thrown out of places, kept being looked down on, kept being treated like dirt.

Now, across the river, there was already another town. Greendale. It's older than Riverdale, and weirder too. Greendale and our side of the river never mixed much, except that around this time, a kind of fair came into town from over there. You know the type. Little food stands and bearded ladies and four hundred year old boys. Woman with the body of a snake, and a goat that can talk like a college professor.

One night, while the rich and the poor were all mingling at the fair, a pair of fine Blossom boys got into it with the workers. Well, there was blood that night. They called it the riots. A fair few people died, and more were injured, and at the end of it the four families decided they needed to control these South-of-the-tracks types. Needed to find a way to keep them out of sight when necessary, to keep all their ugliness out of the nice part of town. Hell, to push all the ugliness of the nice part of town onto them, if it came to that.

("They created the veil," Cheryl said.

Betty started. She'd forgotten Cheryl was even here. She'd forgotten that Cheryl might know some of this. But Cheryl's expression was carefully, deliberately blank, like she was fine letting FP have most of the telling as long as it revealed nothing of her own hand.)

That's right. They created the veil.

They went to the fair folk -- I mean those carnie types that had come in from Greendale -- and they posed the problem to them. The circus freaks agreed to do something for them. They set up a divide across the tracks, to keep the Southsiders in their place. Trouble was, they hadn't said how they would set it up. They didn't trap the Southsiders just in a location. They trapped them in a time.

That's right, Red. A time.

They split up the year, giving one season to each of the four families to hold onto. But not every family got the season they wanted. The Blossoms, who had their maple syrup business and could have used an eternal spring to tap in, well. They got the winter. The Lodges took the spring. Andrews got the summer, like he wanted.

And there was a -- a real low-down type from the fourth family, whose farm had gone under and who'd taken a job as foreman for the Blossoms, down on the Southside. He took the fall. That was where they stuck the Southsiders, in that autumn of his. Where everything was always dying, where the Southsiders would have to work without demanding perks. Invisible to everybody else. Holding all the decay and unhappiness in the town.

That fourth guy. I think that guy must have been really stupid.

-

FP trailed off, looking troubled. Betty kept expecting him to say more, but he didn't. Cheryl had by now gone deathly white and still, like a statue, and Archie was looking horrified, so it fell to Betty to prompt the next piece.

"And?" she said. "That's why we can't see the Southsiders most of the time, and can't see their town, because they're literally in a different time, but--"

FP snorted.

"But nothing. Rest of it is all just the consequences of all that. There are always consequences."

"Consequences?" Betty echoed.

"Consequences," said a new voice, a sickly-sweet voice Betty knew all too well, "are something you will become familiar with soon, Elizabeth!"

Her mother strode into the cellblock. She looked out of place and gloriously satisfied about it, hair expertly fixed, nails delicately mint-colored, matching mint trenchcoat a splash of prim perfection in the gloom of the cell. Without missing a beat, she snapped, "Out. All three of you. Right now. God, can just anyone stroll in here?"

FP was staring at her like she was the first interesting thing he'd seen since he'd come to Riverdale.

"Been wondering that myself, Alice," he murmured.

Betty blinked.

"Wait. Mom, you know him?"

"Out," Alice snapped. She grabbed Cheryl by the arm and shoved her out of the room, prompting Cheryl to wail again, before doing the same to Archie, which had to take even greater reserves of strength. FP started laughing. He was back at the bars of his cell again, now more interested in what was happening in front of him than in the story he'd played out in his mind.

"Now, see, I knew this one had to be your girl," he told Alice. "Too much like you not to be."

"How do you know him?" Betty demanded again. "And how did you know I was here?"

"Betty, we are leaving!" her mother snapped.

"Your mother," FP said, smiling with a lot of teeth, "Well, she has a way of finding people when she wants to, I guess. Always been odd, your mother."

"Leaving!" Alice said, louder than before. She had Betty by the shoulder and was steering her to the door, but not before FP said, "She's asking about you, Alice. Your match. Made me promise to track you down, even, except I could never find the time. A barricade isn't gonna fix that, Alice."

For a single second, incredibly, Betty's mother looked afraid.

-

They were back by the lake shore, and Toni was whistling for Hot Dog.

This was a stupid, affable creature that belonged communally to the Serpents. Jughead had taken care of him for a short time and already loved him unreservedly. Hot Dog reminded him a little of Archie. He hadn't thought Hot Dog would listen to whistles, though, and this time Hot Dog did. The dog took off for Toni, who kneeled down and patted him until he calmed.

The other Serpents stared at Jughead. All the other Serpents, practically, now gathered by Crystal Lake. Jughead hadn't been in the Southside that long, but he knew at least a few beyond the three he'd come to be friendly with. Pinhead, Knuckles, and Jigsaw -- Toni had introduced him to them at the Wyrm. Bambi, Jersey, and Felony -- they'd come into the bodega a few times. Those six had the couches. Sweet Pea and Fangs and a line of the younger boys stood in front of Jughead. Tall Boy paced along the edge of the lake, just behind him. Penny had climbed atop the shattered caravan and somehow discovered a paper crown not unlike Jughead's hat. She'd jammed it on her head and was surveying the gang, looking merry about something.

"You cared for the beast," Tall Boy intoned.

He had cared for the beast.

"You learned the six laws," Tall Boy said.

He had learned the six laws. It hadn't been hard. There had only been six.

"You reached for the snake!" said Tall Boy theatrically.

He had the bite to prove it, so yes.

"Now," Tall Boy finished, "do you submit yourself to the gauntlet?"

Jughead pretty clearly did, since he'd let the Serpents bring him here and was now shivering in his undershirt, preparing to be punched.

That was the final test of the initiation. He squared his shoulders, knowing he had to take it seriously. This was what set the Southsiders apart from the North.

Pain.

"I submit myself to the gauntlet!" Jughead answered, keeping his voice steady.

This time, when the blows came, he was ready. It wasn't like before. He let the pain bloom and told himself it wasn't like before. His gut exploded with it, and his face. They caught him in the side a few times, and he just thought,

I knew that was coming this time. I knew. This is less bad.

But, as ever, the pain soon drowned out thought. Then he was just reacting, pulling himself up mechanically, trying just to keep standing. When Sweet Pea dealt him a vicious blow, he was still able to pull himself up.

It felt strangely triumphant. Sweet Pea grinned at him, looking young, looking like Jughead's victory was his victory. He held out a hand. Jughead took it.

Then the world went sideways. There were Serpents at his back, Serpents grabbing him by the arms. Serpents helping haul him up bodily, getting him horizontal, like he was something they were bearing in a coffin. Jughead hadn't been expecting this part, so he struggled, but after the gauntlet he was too disoriented for his struggle to be effective.

They carried him past the caravan, along the shore that bordered the quarry proper, until they came to a pier. He was still disoriented when they threw him into the water. It occurred to him that they didn't even know if he could swim. It occurred to him that he couldn't really swim -- Jughead Jones had always been the last boy invited to pool parties. For a second, panic reigned.

I'm going to drown, he thought. He was so close to the end of his rope that he reconciled himself to the thought almost immediately. Soon, he would be unable to breathe.

But he wasn't not breathing.

He opened his eyes, but this produced no discernible effect. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't not-see anything either. Sight was merely suspended. There was only sensation, only a bizarre feeling crowding in on the edge of his consciousness, slowly pouring in and filling it up.

The feeling said,

In unity, there is strength.

In unity, there is strength.

It also said,

No Serpent is left for dead.

No Serpent is left for dead.

It also said,

A Serpent never betrays his own.

A Serpent never betrays his own.

It was soothing. It was him, soon enough. But he had expanded. He no longer ended where he should end. Where Jughead ended, there was Toni. There was Sweet Pea, and Fangs. There was even Tall Boy, prickly and not especially likable, but soon enough Jughead's dislike dissolved. It all faded into a greater union.

In unity, there is strength. No Serpent is left for dead. A Serpent never betrays his own.

He didn't know how much time passed. It hardly mattered. What mattered was being unified, not being alone. He wasn't alone. He was hardly he. He was them, all of them. He was Joaquin, tucked in some corner, still ravenous for the light, but slowly being soothed by his brethren. He was another Serpent somewhere else, hesitantly approaching him somehow, like he fascinated her.

Then he found the dead spot.

He couldn't understand it. It disrupted things. It just felt -- dead. Though there was no sense of direction here, he tried to grope for it, to understand its contours.

Something pulled him back. A familiar sense, a familiar voice, too casual and too irreverent.

"Alright, Rusty-James," Penny said, dragging him bodily out of the lake by one leg. Jughead coughed. There should be water in his ears, but he was completely dry, there and everywhere else. Gravel was scraping painfully against the back of his neck, though.

Penny managed to toss him unceremoniously against one of the rotten couches.

"God, look at you getting drunk on it all," she noted, staring down at him. "Well. Like father like son. Later."

She strode off for her bike. Jughead blinked after her. It was night now and he tried to adjust to the darkness, but he wasn't really adjusting to that. He was adjusting to seeing again. To being himself, outsider and snowflake. It had always been the one thing he could be proud of, and yet he felt like it was a jacket that had shrunk in the water, that he couldn't quite shrug on again. He was stupefied and warm and the fact of his alone-ness was suddenly astonishing. He was no longer sure he wanted to be alone. A part of him wanted to go back into the damp, foggy soup of the lake, where he would never have to worry about being alone again.

Three figures came out of the water. He knew who they were right away. When they reached him, when they reached for him, he could tell that they were as warm and dry as he was.

"You with us, Juggie?" Toni asked.

Jughead felt himself smile. Three answering smiles lit up the dark.

Toni leaned in and kissed him, and it was crisp, dangerous, and real. Like the autumn. Like the Southside. He kissed back hungrily. Sweet Pea's hands and body were tangled up in his and he accepted this too, grabbed back. Reveled in what it was to not be alone for once.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Jughead carefully extricated himself from a pile of teen Serpents. He still didn't entirely feel like himself. He felt both calm, a rare emotion for him, and perplexed, an emotion that these days was far less rare. Perplexed because there were a lot more limbs here than he was used to. Because Sweet Pea's hair was obscenely silky. Because Fangs looked weirdly handsome in sleep, less young offender and more matinee idol. Because Toni slept with her face mashed into the pillow and took up far too much space for someone of her size.

They'd made out a lot by the lake. Then they'd come back to the trailer and made out more. No one was more shocked by this than Jughead.

He'd always skirted around the possibility that someone might want to make out with him, mostly because of the glaring likelihood that this possibility would be an impossibility. On the Northside, he was the local teen loner, too prickly for an invite to most lunch tables, let alone an invite to suck face. But that was the wrong thing to call it -- sucking face. Kissing people didn't feel like that. It felt like he didn't need to breathe, like he didn't need to think. It left him both clumsy and set alight, like he was a demanding, cantankerous star.

Now he rummaged around in the kitchen for something to eat. To feed the others too, assuming they were as hungry as he was. There wasn't much food. FP had a single jar of capers in his cupboards. It had seemed puzzling back when FP had also had a box of crackers, but by now Jughead had eaten that, so the capers would have to do.

He was wrestling with the lid when a broad pair of arms settled around him. He started, turned, and hit Sweet Pea in the chin with the jar.

"Jesus!" Sweet Pea said, falling back. "God, Jones! You're such a--"

He let loose a string of obscenities.

"You didn't give me a warning, Sweet Pea!"

"Warning? I'm trying to say good morning, you stuck up little twerp! I wanted to run my fingers through your hair!"

It occurred to Jughead that he wasn't wearing his hat. He hunted around the living room until he found it, hanging from a lamp that Fangs had knocked into when he'd taken his pants off. Right, they'd been pantsless. Everybody pantsless. After that, hair-petting and arm-encircling was probably tame and to be expected.

Sweet Pea was still cursing.

"How were you so smooth last night, especially for you, and then now you do this?"

He'd been smooth? Actually, maybe. Jughead thought that had also happened. He'd been smooth. After years of being certain that actual, realistic teenage groping would be awkward and embarrassing, every appendage doing what it shouldn't where it shouldn't while the participants scrambled to collect their dignity amid inexplicable desperation, he realized that -- no. It had been that, and at the same time more instinctive than that. He'd been fine at it. He'd wanted to press a kiss to the shell of Toni Topaz's ear and he'd done it and he'd been fine.

"Whatever," Sweet Pea declared. He stomped back to the bedroom and came back a second later, wearing more clothes. "I'm gonna go get us breakfast."

He left, slamming the door after him. No sooner had he gone than Fangs shuffled out. He found the jar of capers rolling around on the floor, picked it up, and popped the lid off easily. Then he sat at the kitchen table and began eating capers.

"Hey. Sweets go get breakfast?"

"Yeah," Jughead said. Something occurred to him. "He, uh, do that after all your gang makeout sessions?"

Fangs gave him a very tolerant look.

"In the water," he said, "we realize we're not just in the Southside, so much as we are the Southside. Each of us is a small shred of the Southside that's too conscious of itself. But when we join, we're great. And we're more. We're the tapestry of the Southside, all the threads together and stuff. It's easy to want to celebrate that, and we should celebrate it. We should come together to be the tapestry."

Jughead stared at him.

"Fangs, that is eerily spiritual," he said, after a few seconds.

Fangs grinned.

"Thanks. I read a lot of Popular Mechanics," he said, as though this was what at the root of his semi-religious explanation for all the groping.

Something else occurred to Jughead. This something else made him backtrack to the couch and sit, suddenly very stressed and so very much himself again. He held up a hand towards Fangs.

"Okay," he said, "I need you to placate the ever-growing paranoia that normally shrouds all my thinking, and that seems to have taken some kind of deeply bizarre vacation last night. Fangs, did I just join a cult?"

If it were Sweet Pea or Toni, they might become offended, but this was Fangs. He just kept fishing capers out of the jar, shooting Jughead that same lenient look.

"I dunno," he said. "It's semantics, isn't it? Anyway, you don't have the tattoo yet."

"I don't have the wha--"

Jughead shot up. He pointed a finger at the ceiling. It seemed important to do that, like he had to make a grand point in favor of individualism and not enjoying a very literal hive mind and definitely not being happy when you joined a cult, which was what the very dumbest b-movie protagonists did, and what he had always sworn he would not do himself.

"Look," Fangs said, between handfuls of capers, "if you could go back and trade last night's makeout session for not being a part of us, would you do it?"

Jughead felt his face contorting into the most outraged expression it could muster.

"What kind of question-- I-- What are you--"

"Would you?" Fangs asked.

"I--" Jughead said.

No.

"No!" he snapped.

He realized his finger was still up. He put it down.

"Man, I can't believe you were so smooth last night," Fangs said. "And now you're, like. You again."

"Who was smooth?" Toni said. She walked into the kitchen, blinked blearily at them, and then helped herself to a seat at the table. She was wearing an oversized shirt that she had probably found in FP's closet.

"Jones," Fangs said.

"Oh," Toni said, throwing in unnecessary syllables that made it seem like she didn't quite agree, but also she was unsurprised that Fangs thought so. Jughead stared at her, feeling slightly betrayed. He really did think he hadn't done too badly.

Sweet Pea chose this moment to bang back inside, dropping a bag that smelled like fresh rolls on the table.

"You know Jones tried to punch me in the face with a jar this morning?" he demanded.

Toni raised an eyebrow at him. "You like that kind of thing."

"Not without prior consent!" Sweet Pea said, smacking the table. He took the innermost seat, probably because that left him staring out at Jughead and so meant Jughead received the full force of his glare.

Fangs and Toni were already pulling rolls out of the bag. And there was butter this time. And Sweet Pea had added little plastic knives, and napkins, and what appeared to be small packets of jam.

Jughead decided to risk the glare. He took the remaining seat and helped himself to a roll.

"Do all the Serpents do--" he started. "--I mean. What we just did?"

Toni looked at him with wide eyes.

"Do you want us to tell you about your dad and Tall Boy's supposed sexual exploits? Because I promise that would kill the mood."

God, no. Jughead shook his head rapidly. To express the full force of his horror verbally, while chewing on a roll, would probably lead to choking, but once he'd swallowed he said, "Never mind. I don't-- never mind."

Toni nodded. She looked thoughtful for a second.

"I liked what we did last night," she said carefully, "but maybe your heart's not in it, Jughead. I like girls more anyway--"

"I like guys more, but he punched me in the face with that jar over there," Sweet Pea said. Fangs shot him a sympathetic look.

"--and you might still be caught up in your girlfriend," Toni continued, as though Sweet Pea hadn't spoken, "and that's okay."

Jughead stared at her.

"Girlfriend?"

"Blonde?" Toni said. "Walked over here twice from Sweet Valley High?"

"Betty?" Jughead said. The thought that anyone could think he and Betty might fit like that was either ludicrous or supremely flattering. "No. No. You've got it wrong. Look, she's the perfect girl--"

"Nobody's the perfect girl," Toni said, rolling her eyes and waving a few fingers at him like she'd expected better.

"No," Jughead said. "I don't mean that. I just mean that she's smart and hardworking and gorgeous, and I've always just been the weird tortured loner she doesn't look at like that--"

"Maybe it's because you hit people in the face with jars," Sweet Pea said.

"I'm kinda smart and hardworking and gorgeous," Fangs murmured. He'd found a packet of cream cheese and was expertly combining cream cheese, capers, and roll into something that Jughead was slightly envious of.

"So glad you know your worth," Jughead said, feeling like he'd slipped into some deeply silly alternate universe for a second. "I mean, so's Toni--"

Toni smiled. It was a broader smile than any she had ever produced before, and it was like it had been startled out of her.

"What about me?" Sweet Pea demanded. "Oh, wait. I'm not gonna look too gorgeous once this bruise forms, because you--"

"We get it. We know about the jar!" Jughead said.

Sweet Pea just snapped his fingers in response.

“I see what this is about,” he said. “It’s about your boy.”

“My what?”

“Your boyfriend, Jones. Your boy. Came barging in here acting like he thought he was psycho Prince Charming—“

“Archie?” Jughead said incredulously. “No. Archie’s a great person, a really good person—“

“Is he?” Sweet Pea said, that crazed look in his eye again.

It was strange to defend Archie when all thoughts of Archie felt like poking at a new wound.

"Either way, he's not my boyfriend. Betty's not my girlfriend. I'm not dating anybody--"

"So he's available," Fangs told the other two.

"And Toni just said she liked girls better so I guess it's gonna be me and jarpunch over here--"

He had slipped into some alternate universe. One where town weirdo and decided loner Jughead Jones was somehow a valuable, dateable person, where other people were inexplicably attracted to him, where he joined some kind of gang or cult and the people in the cult asked oblique questions about who he was seeing right now.

It both pleased him and caused instant panic over the very fundamentals of his identity.

“Look. Why do the three of you even like me?” he demanded.

"I don't," Sweet Pea said, pushing himself away from the table and scoffing.

"You seem to care about the Southside," Toni said.

"I just think you're funny," said Fangs. "And you're new. We never get anybody new here. And you have nerdier interests than I do, so I'm not the weird one."

"I literally hate you and the only good thing about you is that if we get you, the Northside doesn't," Sweet Pea decided.

"Plus, behind your slightly pretentious facade, you have real principles," Toni said.

"You talk like every single thing you're saying is a really important speech," Fangs said. "I dunno. It's kind of funny."

"I don't even think you're that good looking. You could be better looking," Sweet Pea said.

All three of them seemed to settle on that point and have a wordless exchange of looks over it, like they were silently debating the relative merits of Jughead's whole too-pale, exhausted aesthetic. Jughead decided it was time to disrupt this mad spiral into nonsense.

"I'm not good looking!" he said. "I'm weird. People think I'm practically Vernon Little, Eeyore in a teen boy body--"

The Serpents regarded him indulgently. After a second, Sweet Pea pulled out his switchblade and speared a second roll with it. The action made Jughead trail off mid-sentence. Why did acceptance feel like the strangest thing that had ever happened to him?

There was one roll left and he had the sense that the Serpents were leaving it for him, so he took it. He also took the cream cheese and capers that Fangs slid his way, even before he realized Fangs was sliding them to him. After he made himself a kind of sandwich and started eating it with one hand, he realized that he had Toni's hand in his other hand somehow, loosely clasped there.

He blinked.

When you achieved a wordless union, a comfort with other people, probably it did seem especially offensive to have one of those people hit you in the face with a jar. He offered Sweet Pea a look of apology. Sweet Pea sneered at him, clearly not ready to forgive yet.

"So," Fangs said. "I have Pickens Road duty today."

"Laying asphalt by the Wyrm," Sweet Pea muttered.

"And I'm supposed to try and recruit from the wild things at Southside High," Toni said, looking none-too-pleased at the prospect.

"When do I, uh, start getting jobs?" Jughead asked. He was a Serpent now. He would have to do Serpent things. It was a horrifying consideration, and he had no idea when he would find the time for it because he still had to figure out the Jason Blossom thing and free his father and help the Southside, each of those things their own entirely separate horror. Though when Toni's hand squeezed his it did all feel just a touch less terrible.

"Soon," Sweet Pea said. "But you don't have your tattoo yet. You earn your stripes after the tattoo. Tall Boy'll come around and explain it, probably."

"Is he the one that hands out assignments?"

"Well, it's supposed to be your dad," Fangs said. "But he's gone, so I guess it'll be Tall Boy or the snake charmer. It'd be good if it was her. Your friend made us promise we would try and figure out more about what happened to make her sister crazy, and I had a thought about that. Penny might know."

Jughead stared at him.

"Penny said she didn't know anything," he said slowly. Then, because it was one more question to add to his ever-growing pile of questions, "Snake charmer?"

Toni furrowed her brow at him. "Right," she said. "Penny's the snake charmer. And you can't expect her to tell you the truth outright. Snake charmers lie, hide, bargain, and trick. That's what they do."

"That seems entirely counterproductive to the whole unified hive mind Serpents-are-a-big-creepy-family thing," Jughead pointed out.

Toni shook her head. "Snake charmers aren't like the rest of us. They've always been allowed to break the rules sometimes."

"Like me?" Jughead said.

"Who says you're allowed to break our rules?" Sweet Pea shot back, his mouth full of roll.

"Yeah," Toni said, rolling her eyes. "You want to be an oddball? Fine. You're an oddball, Juggie. But not any odder than each of us is. But the snake charmer -- she's a lot more dangerous than a mere snake. She's pretty much only second to your dad. Though, uh, she and your dad have a weird relationship."

Jughead had a terrible thought.

"Oh my god. She's not my mom, is she?"

The Serpents burst into laughter.

"No way," Fangs said. "But just. Be careful around her. We can go with you to question her, if you want."

"Good," Jughead said. Something else occurred to him. "Hey. Did you guys feel that dead spot in the water?"

The Serpents all visibly stilled.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jughead said. "Does it have something to do with Jason? He went down to the shore with my dad, and now he's nowhere to be found. Do you think someone..."

Killed him. Shoved his corpse in the lake. It wouldn't have been FP who did the killing, though, Jughead decided. It couldn't have been FP.

"Tall Boy and the others don't want us asking about that," Sweet Pea was saying hurriedly. "I mean, there's rules, Jones. We're Serpents. We don't go against what we're told. If that spot is proof Tall Boy and Penny and your dad did something to your boy Jason, that's -- we'd be going against the gang if we tried to make a stink about that."

"He's not my--" Jughead said. "You already did go against your gang! You allied with my Northside friends!"

All the Serpents looked uncomfortable.

"You were being really pretty-faced and convincing," Sweet Pea snapped, like that had been Jughead's fault.

"Plus," Toni said now, "we didn't betray our principles when we did that. Right?"

"Speak for yourself," Sweet Pea said. "I'm a snake. Principles don't enter into it."

"Of course they do, Sweet Pea," Jughead said exasperatedly. "You said it yourself. Ghoulies want to kill the Southside. Serpents want to save it. And if I've learned anything, it's that we save it by allying. By getting strength in numbers. By reaching out to the Northside and working with them when we can. I mean, do you want the Serpents to have a hand in fixing whatever the hell is happening to our two towns?"

The Serpents all nodded slowly, even Sweet Pea.

"Then we have to start by finding allies where we can. And start questioning the old guard," Jughead decided. "Questioning anybody suspicious--"

"We're suspicious," Sweet Pea protested.

"Not to each other," Jughead said. "In unity, there's strength, right? So we have to be unified. Even if it's just between the four of us. Even if it's against other Serpents like Tall Boy and Penny."

No one argued with him. In fact, as they left for their assigned tasks, Fangs and Toni smiled at him, and Sweet Pea ignored him in such a deliberate manner that, coming from Sweet Pea, it almost felt like a smile.

"You're taking really fast to our whole union thing," Toni said, not looking entirely displeased.

"That's a good thing?" Jughead asked.

She tilted her head.

"I don't know," she said. Then she winked at him and walked out, as Sweet Pea coughed something that sounded suspiciously like 'tyrant' into one fist.

"You like that," Fangs said to him, as they followed after Toni.

Jughead felt himself grinning.

I belong, he thought. I belong. I belong. I belong.

-

Alice, being Alice, picked up and deposited people as she willed, so that Archie she collected outside the station somehow, Betty she secured firmly by the shoulder until she could force her into the Cooper station wagon, and Cheryl she abandoned by the side of the street.

"I'm not here to be manhandled by you, you wannabe-Stepford shrew!" Cheryl wailed, stamping her foot. Alice ignored this in favor of nearly running her car into Sheriff Keller's.

"Nice job keeping the children away from that slippery eel, FP Jones, Tom!" she snapped, sticking her head out of the window. "I assume you're coming, or does dereliction of your duties extend to your role as a parent?"

Sheriff Keller took on an injured expression, but his squad car fell in behind the station wagon. Betty and Archie, separated so that Betty was in the front seat and Archie shoved into the back, shared a perplexed look in the rearview mirror.

"Mom, what is happening?" Betty asked.

"Oh, you'll see, Elizabeth," Alice said, in a dark tone.

Betty's father, Fred and Mary Andrews, Kevin Keller, the Mayor, and Veronica's parents were all waiting in the Cooper living room. Alice strode in like she'd just won a particularly gruesome battle and installed Betty and Archie on the couch like they were trophies of war she now intended to display. Kevin was already sitting on the couch, staring at his knees.

"They, uh, know we went to the Southside," he whispered to the other two.

"We happen to know that you went to the Southside," declared the Mayor. "Never have I seen such terrible behavior. Reckless! Dangerous!"

"You sent Jughead in there yourself," Betty snapped.

"I never did," said the Mayor. "I'm not responsible for the choices other people make! Anyway, my only consolation is that my Josie never would have behaved as horribly as you three have."

Even though Betty knew for a fact her mother hated the Mayor, Alice did nothing to stop this tirade. She joined the semicircle of irate parents with her arms crossed, looking down at the teenagers in a superior way.

"Well?" she asked, looking directly at Betty. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"

Betty crossed her own arms, raised an eyebrow, and decided to say nothing that would tell her mother anything.

"I don't need to defend myself, mother," she said.

Alice's face darkened. It did not lighten as Hiram Lodge stepped in. He spoke rapidly, but with a sort of coolness that belied his words.

"I do want to raise the point that these three have taken Lodge family property," he said. "That shouldn't be lost amid the sturm und drang you're all engaging in over the Southside."

Betty felt her mouth drop open.

"We did not--"

"Really?" Hermione Lodge murmured. "Because we are missing quite a few pieces of fine jewelry."

"Veronica gave those to us!" Archie said, outraged.

But now his father was shaking his head over and over and over.

"What were you thinking?" Fred said. "What were you thinking, Archie?"

"And you, Kevin," said the Sheriff.

Kevin looked miserable.

Meanwhile, the Mayor had begun to pace.

"No one must steal! That is not the Northside way. This is Southside influence, I bet--"

"This is why we need to wall them off," Alice put in.

"We never stole anything," Betty said, enunciating every word for emphasis.

"Oh no," Hiram Lodge said, with a subdued wag of his finger, as if correcting a wayward child, a child that was too young to know it was wasting his time. "I know you think you didn't, but you took something from Veronica, something she had no right to give you."

"Where is Ronnie?" Archie demanded. "She'll tell you the real story."

The Lodges exchanged a look.

"That's none of your concern," Hiram said. "We've dealt with our daughter, and now we're coming here to ask you to return our property."

But he hadn't counted on Betty's mother being the type to oppose everything but her own aims, purely on principle. Alice waved a hand at him.

"Betty doesn't have to return anything that was given to her in a perfectly lawful manner--"

"I agree with that," put in Mary Andrews, though her husband was still shaking his head.

Alice kept talking. "And the real problem is that Southside felon, FP Jones, and whatever he's got lurking on the other side of the tracks. He should be gotten rid of, and we should start seriously considering my barricade proposal."

"That's looking like a better option with every passing day, Alice!" said the Mayor, looking decisive. "Why -- it's only a matter of time until the hooligan influence of the Southside corrupts us absolutely. Maybe even my Josie!"

Hiram looked at the ceiling, exhaling a little, like everyone was trying his patience.

"Ah," he said. "Well, fine. If we must make this an impromptu hearing on the problem of the Southside, then there's something you all should know."

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced a sheath of papers, which he passed to the Mayor. A smile played on his lips as the Mayor looked them over.

"You bought the Southside?" she said.

"What?" said Alice. "Give me that."

She snatched the papers from the Mayor, fury dawning on her face.

"You didn't stop this?" Alice demanded. "You let this happen, Mayor McCoy? Sold him easily half of the land within the town limits?"

"Clifford did!" Mayor McCoy snapped. "Anyway, that's the Southside. The Southside doesn't count as part of Riverdale."

"We send in the first raiding party tonight," Hiram said dispassionately. "I was not kidding about wanting that swamp of wretchedness thoroughly cleaned up for my Veronica, and I know you agree with me, Sierra."

The Mayor seemed to slip on unctuousness like an old coat she hadn't realized still suited her beautifully.

"Naturally, Hiram," she said. "Naturally. You know, now that I think about it, you've been completely sensible about the Southside the whole time."

"Let me know if you need my men to help you in there," Sheriff Keller put in. "We, uh, could use something to do."

Betty, Archie, and Kevin stared at each other in horror.

"Dad," Kevin said urgently. "Dad, you can't just stroll in there."

"There would be no point," Alice said now. "There's nothing in there. What are you going to find? A few junkies?"

"Well, it's my property, Alice, and I'm allowed to clear junkies out if I want to," Hiram said.

"You don't get to use public servants to do it," Alice snapped, seizing on the Sheriff's comment. "Anyway, a sale of this size ought to have been properly announced to the town. There should be laws about this."

"There aren't," Hiram said simply.

"There should be!" Alice said. Now she was looking to Betty's father, who also seemed troubled.

"See here, Hiram," Hal said. "As the voices of this town, we at the Register will have to contest a transfer like this--"

"A backroom deal between two robber barons," Alice put in. "A coup."

"Do what you must," Hiram said noncommittally.

"You know what?" Fred Andrews said, jumping into the fray. "I don't care, as long as my kid never goes there again. I'm disappointed in you, Arch. Come on. Let's go."

He and Mary walked to the door, beckoning for a mutinous-looking Archie to follow.

"Wait!" Betty said, before Archie could go. She wanted Archie here to help her figure out the oddest piece of this, or at least to offer support. Archie was good at support.

"What about Jason Blossom?" she asked Hiram. "What about Jughead Jones, Mr. Lodge?"

Hiram looked at her blankly.

"We told Clifford we would help look for Jason, if anything of Jason remains," he said. "And no one's asking about that other boy--"

"We are!" Archie said.

"Arch. Let's go," said Fred, dragging him out. Mary followed, casting a troubled look at the others.

"--but I'm happy to look for whatever remains of Jughead Jones, as well," Hiram finished. "In any case, Ms. Cooper, mark my words. We will bring legal action if our property is not returned."

He beckoned to his wife and the Mayor, who both followed him out. Sheriff Keller also took this as his cue to leave with Kevin, doffing his cap at the Coopers as he went. Betty was left staring at her parents, who both appeared enraged.

"Who does Clifford think he is?" Hal said. "Selling the Southside? I told him we were as good as Blossoms, that all that Blossom money is as good as ours too, and so he goes and divests himself of assets that are rightfully ours--"

"Shut up, Hal," snapped Alice. She went to the window, presumably to make sure all their guests had gone, and then reeled back.

"This is bad," she said immediately. "This is bad."

"What?" Betty said. She jumped up and ran to join her mother.

Something very strange was happening on Elm Street. A caravan of black suburbans and black trucks, driven by men in paramilitary gear. The emblem on the trucks said LODGE INDUSTRIES. The logo was some kind of flower. A veronica, Betty realized.

"We're going, Betty," her mother said.

Betty's father said, "Going where--"

Alice ignored him. She grabbed Betty and dragged her out to the street. Archie doggedly joined them, falling out of the Andrews hedge.

He said, stubbornly, "I'm not listening to my dad right now."

Alice led them back to the car, and didn't even bat an eyelash at Jughead's shadow, coming up hesitantly behind Archie.

"I should have known you were keeping malevolent occult secrets from me," was all she said, fixing Betty with a stern look.

"What?" Betty said. "Mom, what is happening? Where are we going?"

"We are going to get FP Jones, Betty," said Alice, like this should be obvious. "And then we're going to find your little friend Veronica. Between the two of them, maybe we'll almost get one complete explanation for everything that's happening right now."

Chapter Text

Veronica was trapped -- nay, imprisoned -- in her palatial Pembrooke bedroom, guarded by the new doorman.

Her parents had taken back all of her pearls. And Smithers was gone, too. Veronica wasn't entirely sure what had happened to him, but she wouldn't discount the possibility of a corresponding dead body on the Southside. This alarmed and troubled her, but since Smithers had overseen the installation of all the locks in the Pembrooke and her door apparently locked from the outside, well.

There was probably a lesson here about not making deals with devils.

Her parents were that. Her mother had crooned, "Poor little princess," as Andre had gently pinned her hands to her sides. Every last pearl had been taken, secured inside her father's study. And her father had looked at her with cool disappointment.

"Maybe we should have left you in the city," he'd noted. "Maybe you were never ready to truly join this family, Veronica."

If that was true, then Veronica had to applaud herself for it.

The Lodges had stolen the spring. Oh, sure. The way her father had explained the story -- creepy carnival, humble farming folk, and all that other nonsense -- seemed to suggest that the spring was their right. They'd agreed to go away with the spring, Hiram had said, to keep the seasons from sliding back into place. They'd done it as much for the other founding families as for themselves.

But there was no way this had been meant to truly help the other founding families. Like all Lodge decisions, the goal must have been to benefit the Lodges. After all, they'd brought the spring back for their own purposes. Real hard times had hit the Lodges. The kind that came with almost all the money tied up in court, all the assets frozen. So Veronica's father had devised a very simple answer. They would sell the spring. Of course, before they could sell it, they would have to create a market for it.

"Something interesting happens when the seasons collide," Veronica's father had noted. "The veil lifts. Things become more real. You see them as they are. That can cause a panic in some people."

He said 'panic' in a way that conjured up dollar signs.

When the Northside realized just what was in South, they were bound to become frightened. They were bound to want to disrupt the spell that made the Southsiders invisible, that kept the Northside blind to the dangers of the Southside.

Hiram knew exactly what to sell to them in that case, and he didn't want his daughter giving it away for free.

Veronica had felt slightly bad for Jughead when she'd learned that his father was a shadowy Southside snake, but now she felt worse for herself. Better to be a snake, probably, than a snake oil peddler. Hiram's plan wasn't just evil. It was tasteless. Yes, the pearls were a marketable commodity. They were lovely. They exempted one from the rules of this strange place. But that was only because they were the spring, and the spring belonged to everyone. There was something especially vulgar, brazen, and inhuman about charging others for what rightfully belonged to everyone.

Now Veronica tried to make Andre see reason.

"Andre," she said pleadingly. "Andre, you're not really evil."

There was no answer.

"Andre," she said. "Much of my family's wealth is my name, you know. I could pay you handsomely--"

"Your father could pay me much more handsomely, Ms. Lodge," came Andre's amused voice.

There was nothing for it. Veronica would have to take him on somehow. Yes, Andre was supposedly skilled in the martial arts. But Veronica had a mean right hook, and she could do a lot of damage with a Louboutin.

She went into her closet to look for the sharpest one she owned. There were a lot, so this took some time. When she was standing on her tiptoes on an overstuffed tuffet, trying to reach the purple floral booties she'd once used to inflict a permanent toe injury on Nick St. Clair at a summer lawn party, she heard the sounds of a scuffle. And very distinct shouting, some of it familiar.

She ran to the door. Someone was doing something to the lock. Veronica had of course tried to pick the lock already herself, using a bobby pin, but she hadn't gotten very far.

Probably she had less practice than Betty Cooper. She heard Betty's soft 'aha!' after a few minutes, and then Betty and Betty's mother swung the door open. They peered in at Veronica. Jughead's shadow, leaning against a nearby champagne-colored wall, waved at her.

Andre was lying on the floor. Someone had brained him with a priceless Antoine-Louis Barye bust that Hermione had brought over from the city. That someone was either Archie or Jughead's father, judging by the way they were both sitting on Andre, unnecessarily keeping him in place. Archie was also clutching his face, like he was in pain.

"What's happening?" he demanded. "This feels awful."

"It's pain, Red," said Jughead's father wryly. "Didn't think your kind could feel it."

"Of course he can feel it," Veronica said, but then she realized that maybe Archie never had before. She noticed that he had some of the pearls from the necklace she'd given Betty strung on a shoelace around his neck. They'd clearly split the necklace between them. And maybe before Veronica had given them that bit of spring, the world had been less real for them. Maybe that included pain.

Of course, this meant that her parents, despite no doubt knowing that one side effect of the pearls was to make you vulnerable in this way, had nevertheless bedecked Veronica in them.

"V?" Betty asked hesitantly.

"Bad news," said Veronica, suddenly even more enraged than before. "My parents are evil!"

"We know," Betty and her mother said at the same time, with wildly different degrees of understanding. Jughead's shadow nodded its head, too, like this should be news to no one.

Veronica frowned at them, but before she could demand an explanation FP Jones spoke up.

"This place makes me feel like I'm gonna be thrown out on my ear any second," he muttered, looking mistrustfully at the paneled walls and fine statuary littered all over the penthouse. "Let's truss this turkey and go somewhere we can talk."

"Wait," Veronica said. "We need to get into my father's study."

"He said we stole your pearls," Archie informed her, clearly offended about it.

"That's preposterous," Veronica said. "We haven't stolen them yet."

FP raised an eyebrow, like she was speaking his language.

"Well, thank god we have the right man for this," Alice Cooper told him snidely. But she let Betty gamely tackle the door to the study, so that within three minutes Veronica was rooting through her father's papers for the combination to his walk-in safe. She shifted aside a stack garlanded in increasingly ostentatious letterhead (Paul Sowerberry, Esq., Keene & van Ronson, Spellman & Smith & blah-blah-blah), and upended paperweights and pulled open drawers willy-nilly.

"What's your birthday?" FP Jones demanded.

"April twenty-sixth. Why?" said Veronica.

FP nodded thoughtfully. "Weird. No match for that on the Southside, far as I can tell."

"I was born in the city," Veronica said.

"That's one way to keep a kid out of all this mess," FP told her. He shot a strange look at the shadow, then at Alice, who snapped, "We don't have time for chit-chat, FP!"

FP shrugged. He started punching digits into the key pad on the wall, though Veronica told him it couldn't be that easy, and then stepped back, grinning at the rest of them, as the door to the safe swung open.

"I've got a little junk safe I keep stuff in. It's Jughead's birthday, or what his birthday would've been, as far as I could calculate, if this town were normal," he said. He said it mostly to the shadow, like he wanted to prove something to it. "I mean, Hiram Lodge has got more money than me, but maybe he's not that different."

"Do you really have that low an opinion of yourself?" Veronica muttered.

FP gave her an odd look, but didn't comment. Then he sauntered into the safe, grabbing necklaces and stuffing his pockets with them almost nonchalantly. Veronica went and got a set of Prada duffel bags from her parents' closet so she could help him, as Archie, Betty, and Alice dragged Andre into the safe.

Once they'd cleaned out the pearls, they left Andre propped on a prized Robert Rauman (Devoted Mother, it was a series of mint-green and violet splotches that more or less added up to Hermione and a small Veronica if you were drunk and also squinting), and secured the safe door closed. Veronica slipped on her favorite pearl bracelet and necklace then, just because she could.

On a whim, she also stopped before the keypad. She considered changing the passcode. She wasn't too worried about Andre. The oxygen in the safe was at pristine levels, as it was routinely pumped into a tank of Hiram's prized Platinum Arowanas. Which, Veronica supposed, Andre could use his martial arts skills to subdue and eat if he got hungry.

The shadow touched its insubstantial fingers to one sequence in particular. 4677864.

Veronica frowned, but then she got it. I'M SPRUNG. Hiram and Hermione, she thought, would get the message, so she grinned and made the change. Then, tossing her hair over her shoulder, she turned to the others.

"Where to?"

"Pop's?" Betty suggested.

This seemed like a foolhardy suggestion to Veronica. Surely it was better to go anywhere but the local watering hole? But all the others were nodding, even the shadow.

"That's the only place in town where our unsavory company--" here Alice looked deliberately at FP "--won't raise brows."

"Sure. Everybody's welcome there," FP said, unaffected.

"Maybe I can ask Pop what he'd do about this," Archie said, still prodding at a fast-forming bruise below his eye and wincing every time he prodded it.

"Ice, Archiekins," Veronica advised him.

But pain was such a novel sensation for Archie that he misunderstood this. "Oh. Should we have packed up all those diamonds, too, Ronnie?"

"I guess that can be arranged--" FP began, but then Alice said, "Out," so out they all went.

At Pop's, Alice pulled Betty into one side of a booth. Veronica slid into the other side, and Archie followed. FP grabbed two chairs from a table across the way and sat in one, gesturing the shadow to the other. It floated there.

"Where've you been hiding?" he asked it. "Jug said he'd never seen you before."

The shadow reached out a hand to him.

"Nah," FP said, shaking his head. "You weren't with me. I mean, I would've--" he stopped. Considered. "No, guess I wouldn't have seen you. There isn't a lot of sun where I'm from."

"It crosses the tracks whenever Jughead does," Archie put in now, leaning on his elbows and frowning for some reason. FP just nodded at him, then began staring at everything interestedly.

"Still looks the same," he muttered. "Yeah. Great place. Warm place. Hey, old man! How about a chicken sandwich and some onion rings and an orange crush?"

Pop nodded amiably at him. He said, "Coming right up, pal!" and shuffled off to the kitchen.

Archie said, with a coldness in his voice that Veronica had never heard before, "Pop was one of the people who raised Jughead. While Jug's shadow was at least looking after you, hardly anybody was looking after Jug, FP."

All the color drained out of FP's face. He looked ready to do violence to something, although the shadow was vainly trying to pat him calm. Alice cut in before anything could happen.

"Nobody looked after him at all. This is why Jughead turned into a juvenile offender," she said. "Though I'm sure his genetic makeup also didn't help. Anyway, you seem to know the menu here awfully well, FP. Been breaking the rules and sneaking across to the Northside a little too often?"

FP looked at her. It was a very intent look. It seemed at once too dark and too bright. Alice swallowed, but didn't break eye contact.

"If you must know, Alice, that's what Jug would bring me when he'd come see me," FP bit out. "And he would come, because I'm his father. But yeah. I've been here before. On my side of town, rulebreaking's sort of a way of life, isn't it, Alice?"

"Mom," Betty cut in, voice high like she was realizing something she could not quite wrap her mind around. "Have you been to the Southside?"

Several people from the next table over heard this and peered over at them, and so Alice whirled on her.

"Not now, Betty! And keep your voice down. That's Melvin Muggs and his family over there. Anyway, that question is entirely beside the point. We need to--"

"--go get Jug back," FP said.

"We have bigger problems to worry about than the predictable effects of your terrible parenting," Alice snapped. "Right now, as we speak--"

Pop came bobbing by. He put FP's order down in front of him, and also offered Archie some ice, which Archie took with a confused look on his face. Rolling her eyes, Veronica gently shoved the ice at his bruised eye until he got the point.

"Don't worry, Veronica," Pop said, pitching his voice low. "If your father's men come in, I'll stall them so you can leave."

"My father's what?" said Veronica.

Suddenly everyone began to look like they'd forgotten to tell her something important. Or maybe she just started to look at them like they'd forgotten to tell her something important.

"Betty," she said expectantly, because Betty was the one she trusted the most.

With a grimace, Betty launched into what the rest of them apparently knew. Black trucks from Lodge Industries. Full-scale invasion imminent. The same story her parents had told her about Riverdale, about the Lodges having hold of the spring.

"But how does that link to invading the Southside?" Betty finished, furrowing her brow.

Veronica pursed her lips and looked down at her hands.

"My family," she said, "is strange. We've been forced out of everywhere because we can cause suffering and it doesn't touch us. It just renews us, like we're living in an eternal spring, because of course we are. So we were driven out of the city and had to come here, where my father plans to make money off of that talent of ours."

She laid out, as clearly as she could, Hiram's plan. There was something therapeutic in reciting it. If she could identify it to others as evil, then maybe she wasn't a total Lodge. She was a Lodge gone renegade, and suddenly that was exactly what she wanted to be.

"It's all so selfish," Archie said, almost wonderingly, when she was done explaining.

"Well, we're evil, I guess," Veronica said, with a fluid shrug to at least show she would not be brought down by it. "More evil than you can imagine."

FP Jones shook his head.

"There's others just as evil," he told her. He licked some onion ring grease from his fingers and squinted a little at the chrome walls of the diner, like he was thinking hard.

"You should all know what you're up against in this town," he muttered. "Why danger to the Southside is danger to everybody."

Alice Cooper shifted in her seat, but this time FP ignored her.

"After the Founding Families split up the seasons," he said, "trouble followed for all of them. In the winter, the Blossom brothers quarreled and one killed the other. In the autumn, the Southsiders split into two camps, those who wanted just to survive and those who wanted revenge, and there was more bloodshed. And in the summer, the Andrews clan realized that they controlled all leisure and pleasure, and immediately refused to share it."

Veronica could feel Archie shaking slightly.

"They didn't!"

FP took a sip of his orange crush, pinky finger out, and blinked at Archie.

"They did, Red," he asserted, once he'd swallowed. "They'd banished all their troubles to the other side of town, and now they had an eternal vacation. They didn't need to share a damn thing. And you can bet this annoyed the fourth founder of this town, the one who was left holding the bag. He tried to find the fair folk again to reverse it all, but it was gone."

"Almost gone," Alice put in.

Again Betty looked at her in shock, but Alice was just shaking her head, like she couldn't believe she'd said anything at all.

"That's right," FP continued. "Almost gone. Two stragglers had stayed, to keep an eye on the town. That was part of the bargain. Those carnies would leave two minders behind. One on the Northside, and one on the South.

"The Southside straggler said she could help by making sure that every Southsider who wanted to survive would and every Southsider who wanted to die would, by giving the Southsiders -- well. You could call them powers. Powers that would give them some choice in their lot. And the straggler on the North said that he couldn't put everything back together, since the spring was gone, but he could bind together at least the two halves of the town so that they rose and fell together."

"That's why you all have these weird soulmate bonds," Veronica suggested.

FP nodded slowly.

"Every Northsider became connected to a Southsider. A death on the Southside would always lead to death on the North. So time passed, but it didn't, too. Life on the Northside stayed warm and orderly and meaningless. The Blossoms -- they got colder and colder and less pleased with their lot. And us Southsiders, well. I guess we became stranger. Maybe a little less human to the rest of you."

The Lodges had become stranger, too, Veronica thought. The Lodges had become less human, too. Veronica swallowed hard.

But now Betty was cutting in again.

"Mr. Jones? Who was the fourth founder? You told us who the other three were--"

"Yes," said Alice, sounding venomous. "Why don't you tell them who doomed his own people to live in an autumnal hellscape?"

"Why don't you tell them about the witch those damn carnies left behind on the Southside because they probably couldn't stand her?" FP shot back.

The children stared at them.

"Not," Betty tried faintly. "Surely not -- not you two."

"Of course not!" said her mother. "Time may be broken, but we're not eighty years old, Betty. It was our grandparents."

"So you're from the Southside?" Betty said.

Alice looked like she wanted to argue that she wasn't, and yet she'd clearly given away too much to make this argument. So she just opened her mouth once and then snapped it closed. Her hands were fists on the tabletop.

"Mom," Betty said wonderingly. "How did you get here?"

Alice was saved by commotion at the next table. Melvin Muggs, eating with his wife and daughter, suddenly slid with a thud out of his booth, hit his head on the floor, and stayed there, bleeding slightly. His wife gasped and was at his side, checking his pulse. Ethel Muggs stood up and hovered around them, flapping her hands a little.

"Oh no," said Mrs. Muggs, without much feeling. "Oh, Ethie, call the morgue."

The shadow recoiled. FP put his orange crush down.

"No," he breathed out. "No, no, no!"

"No what?" Archie said.

Pop came by with a mop and bucket to clear out the blood.

"He's dead!" FP said, slapping the table.

"Well, it was his time, FP," Archie put in. Betty nodded. Alice brought her fingers to her temples.

"What did I just tell you two?" FP hissed. "Someone dies here? It's because somebody died over there! My over there!"

He pushed away from the table, staggering up. The shadow also stood, its body language tense.

"Oh no," Alice said. She stood too, looking at FP like she couldn't decide if he was a walking dream or walking poison.

"You are not marching off there, FP! Not before we plan on how to deal with Hiram Lodge!"

"Those are my people!" FP snapped. "That's where my kid is!"

He stormed off with his orange crush and the shadow trailing behind him. Alice followed too, but not before whirling on Betty and saying, "Don't you dare follow me! You stay here in Pop's!"

"We have to follow them," Betty said immediately.

Veronica dropped some money on the table to pay for FP's meal. Archie managed to haul up all the bags of pearls. Betty said, "So sorry, Mrs. Muggs! Please excuse us! We'll see you at the funeral, and I hope it's a lovely concert."

Then they ran after her mother and FP, all of them heading for the railroad tracks.

-

When the others were gone, Jughead went back to the bedroom to get dressed. There he discovered the jacket.

Maybe Sweet Pea or Fangs or Toni had pulled it from the recesses of the closet and hung it closer to the door. Or maybe he'd just ignored it before. All that supple black leather looked dangerous, and the emblem on the back didn't exactly say 'loner.' You wore something like this only to signal that you belonged.

All the other Serpents had one rearing set of fangs. This one had two. He cast his mind back to what his father had told him.

One for the North, one for the South.

Maybe the jacket didn't scream that he was an individual, but it still fit him. It fit the glaring, offensive part of him that stood out for the wrong reasons, too South for the North and too North for the South. Maybe FP, too, had always had a side of him like this.

Jughead pulled the jacket on. It seemed to dare him to do something, be something more, to dredge up new sides of himself. Although he suspected he should wait for Tall Boy to arrive, he suddenly had an urge to prowl the Southside, to see it with new eyes.

He stepped out into the mist. The thin layer of ice on the pavement cracked satisfyingly beneath his shoes. The sky was the moody pale blue-grey-violet of a day that didn't care to mark its hours, that almost wanted to marry the obscurity of night and with the brightness of the morning. A wind hit the ancient swinging Coca-Cola sign on the nearest liquor store, and rattled the bars on the door, making an eerie sort of music. Jughead found himself walking down to the river, enjoying the ghostliness of the setting for once.

There, at the Sweetwater, was the bridge Toni had showed him. It was as old and shabby as everything else on the Southside. The only upkeep it had ever seemed to receive was a yearly coat of graffiti, skulls and snakes and horrified screaming faces. Jughead walked out to the end, where the bridge stopped halfway over the river, and sat there with his legs dangling. He considered the black water.

If he was being honest, he wanted to dive in again. He wanted to feel the rush of that union again. Yes, it was a hive mind, but the hive mind was intoxicating in its own way.

But that wasn't why he was here. Somewhere in the stretch of water that hugged the Southside, along the river or in the lake, was one spot that didn't fit. An outsider to the Southside. He had little proof that it was Jason Blossom, but it made sense that it might be. Like the twist you saw coming at the end of a movie. It might not build logically, but what about Riverdale and its environs was logical? No, they didn't have logical sense. They had narrative. One thing Jughead had always understood was that, even if the world around you felt wrong or senseless, there was meaning in the metaphors.

"That sure is a look, little boy blue," came Penny's voice from behind him.

Jughead craned around. She was standing on the bridge with her hands looped in the pockets of her leather jacket. She wasn't a large or striking person, she wasn't lovely, she was pale and oddly-assembled, like him, and yet there the similarities ended. Penny had a cocky merriment that was slightly frightening. Jughead thought maybe she wanted it to be frightening.

Fangs and Toni and Sweet Pea had offered to back him when he next spoke to her, but they were gone, and the moment seemed too good to miss.

"You lied to me," he said. "I bet you do know where Jason is."

Penny let a laugh burble out of her, like she'd been holding it in for a while.

"Come on," she said. "Haven't you figured out where he is yourself? What was I -- supposed to hand it to you? Some teen genius you are."

"Is he dead?" Jughead asked. His voice was high, his hands were shaking, and his father was a huge morbid question mark, but he had to know.

"FP wouldn't have killed the kid," Penny said. "Although, you know, your father is a little dumb and extremely volatile, so..."

She trailed off, shrugging.

"Well. What can you do? It's not a great combination. If you're so concerned, why don't you just go get Jason?"

"You pulled me away before!"

"Before, everybody was linked to us. Before, I was acting the part of snake charmer, and you were a dumb new recruit. And there is such a thing as building narrative suspense, you know. Anyway, right now, Rusty-James, it's just me and you and Jason somewhere, dead or freezing or worse. If you want to rescue what's left of him, I'm not gonna stop you."

As she spoke, she'd come closer and closer, and Jughead had shifted almost instinctively in response until he was as close to the edge of the bridge as he could get without falling in. Now, Penny leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder. She was smiling.

"What'll it be?" she said. "A push?"

It occurred to Jughead that even if he said no, she could still push. And if he scrambled up and somehow didn't fall in, she might still be stronger than him, no matter how small she looked. She'd definitely been in a gang longer. He looked up at her wordlessly.

"Come on," Penny said, rolling her eyes. "Don't make me do this the hard way. Okay, you know what? Fine. I will."

Then everything happened too fast. Her hand lifted. Her boot caught him in the back. Jughead had only a second to think of the jolting pain and how unnecessarily violent it was before he was submerged, losing himself in that warm, uncomplicated union again.

In unity, there is strength. No Serpent is left for dead. A Serpent never betrays his own.

Except. No. Penny had. Penny was. The Serpents were hiding Jason, wanted Jason trapped here, but Penny had different aims. It was hard to consider what those aims might be with all his edges fading, with the comfort of not being alone tugging at his loner chilliness.

But this time not all the Serpents were here to welcome him. And this time he'd known what he was getting into. So it was easier to stay himself, not to blend totally into the rest. He reached for the dead spot and though the murmur of the Serpents seemed to warn him off, he ignored it. He kept reaching.

He felt more than saw Jason. It was Jason. An impression of cool, regal white skin, neat red hair. The kind of cold handsomeness that demanded attention. He didn't know if he should do what Penny wanted, but as soon as he felt Jason he realized that he had to. He couldn't leave Jason in the water. He had to grab, pull, will them both up--

He came out dry, as always, by the side of the lake. Next to him, Jason was coughing violently, on his hands and knees in the gravel. Jughead blinked. Jason was Jason, so he made an odd sight among a pile of waterlogged sixties gogo records, an old arcade machine, a small aluminum gorilla with cymbals for hands.

"Jason?" Jughead said, bending over him. Jason was shivering. His hair was wet. His expensive shirt was drenched. Why had Jason come out wet?

Jason managed to stop coughing long enough to glare at him.

"Jones? Why did you take me out?"

Jughead stared at him, incredulous. He was baffled and it came through in his voice. "Your father gave me a month to find you and bring you home. Why did you go in?"

Jason pushed himself up so he was kneeling on the gravel.

"My father didn't give you a month," he said, almost savagely. "My father knows there's no such thing as a month, not for us. I thought you of all people would understand, Jones."

Jughead was so far from understanding that the very concept of understanding seemed to reside on the planet Neptune. Like Jason. A fundamentally different being, existing in a fundamentally different atmosphere.

"Why would I ever understand anything you do, Jason?" he said.

"Because I'm as bizarre as you are," Jason snapped. "I'm not like others, Jones. I'm twisted and cold and wrong. Long ago, my family helped turn this town into the nightmare that it is."

"They made the Southside," Jughead realized.

"They helped make both sides! All sides! The Southside is lawless. The Northside is worthless, nothing but meaningless cheer. And Thornhill is barren and sterile and cold, every part of our humanity dying. Everyone's humanity is."

There was a pause as he coughed up more water. Jughead spent the pause slightly confused about something.

"So you ran away to the Southside?" he said. "Why? How does that fix anything?"

Jason scowled at him.

"Who are you to judge me?" he said. "You don't know what I was dealing with. As part of the bargain that won us our endless winter, my family had to agree to something. We became lords and overseers, feeding the Southside, pouring money into the Northside -- and for what? For cold. For nothing. My father became tired of it."

Amid all the strange nonsequitors Jason was spouting, this was somehow the strangest. It was too understandable a position for Clifford Blossom, and Jughead said so.

Jason looked offended.

"He wants to end things," he said, every word so crisp that it was like he was calling Jughead stupid. "Everything. All of it. The whole bargain. Do you know who else wants that?"

The Ghoulies.

Jason nodded slowly, watching the understanding dawning on Jughead's face.

"Cheryl and I stumbled on my father in the garden one day. He'd somehow made them come out of the ground. He locked Cheryl in her room and then tried to get me to see his side, to agree to our family's new aims. Or, I should say, his new zombie friends threatened to kill me if I didn't."

"So you ran away to their enemies, the Serpents," Jughead said slowly.

"My father couldn't kill me directly," said Jason. "But the Ghoulies don't have to play by rules. I needed to find people who could defend me against them."

Jughead stared down at him, at how he was shivering in the cold, how he'd been siloed in his dead spot, no unity, no warmth, no communion for him. This fact prickled uncomfortably. Jughead swallowed.

"I'm not sure the Serpents play by too many rules, either," he told Jason.

"That's true," Penny said.

Jughead jumped. For some reason, he hadn't been expecting her to appear like this, twice in quick succession. But she was perched on top of the ruined caravan again, watching them. This time they'd come out on the other side of the caravan. Jughead could see that the peeling paint on this side still managed to form images. A woman. A snake. A snake charmer.

He looked down at Jason again.

"Why's he wet?" he said. "Did my dad know he'd be this wet? This cold?"

Penny shrugged.

"Your dad controls some things. This shitty autumn is his birthright, same as yours. But I have some tricks up my sleeve. I made King Jason B stand out to you. Can't let the king of snowdrop mountain fade into the crowd, after all."

"What is she talking about?" Jason demanded. He was still shivering. Jughead wondered how he hadn't died, what the water was like if you had to endure it alone, with none of the magic and none of the acceptance.

Maybe a little like being on the Northside, with none of its magic and none of its acceptance.

"Why did you want me to take Jason out?" Jughead asked, dreading the answer.

Penny laughed so hard she clutched at her sides.

"God! You're just like FP. You always have to be special. It didn't have to be you. It's just funnier if it's you. I mean, it's gonna kill FP when he sees what you've done."

"Freed Jason?" Jughead demanded.

"No," Jason said. He was shaking his head. "No, no, no--"

"Damn right no, no, no," Penny said. "You didn't free him. You doomed him."

Figures were emerging from the junkyard, from the mist. Leather and studs, skulls and curls.

"No--" Jughead said. "You can't come up through the ground here--"

"Right, baby eel," said the one in front. "We walked the road. We've got legs, or don't you have eyes?"

The others hooted and said, "Good one, Malachi!" but Malachi's answer made no sense, because Serpents were guarding the road. Jughead blinked at him.

Malachi stretched his mouth into a grin. He was a lot like Ghoulihand had been, only he was closer to Jughead's age. Or maybe Ghoulihand had been this age too, and Jughead had just grown.

"You're all alone, prince of the junkyard," he said, stretching his hands out and hooting. "Or you will be! Takes me back to when we were knocking you around at Southside High, man."

Betrayed, Jughead stared at Penny. She shrugged again.

"I thought you needed a welcoming committee," she said.

"You hate me," Jughead realized.

"Please," Penny said. "I hate your father. You I just don't give a shit about. And that will make it much more fun when I make sure the Northsiders know you're the reason Jason's dead."

"The Northsiders?" Jughead said, trying to understand.

Penny checked her wrist, almost like she was wearing a watch, although she wasn't and so the action was absurd and somehow threatening.

"Clifford's sold this place. So the Northsiders will be coming soon, if they haven't already. God, what am I, your personal storyteller? I've got shit do do. Malachi, take him!"

The Ghoulies fell on Jughead and Jason. But it was only Jason they wanted. As they dragged him away, Jughead heard him screaming, his voice unhinged with fright.

"Jones! Jones! Don't let them take me! Jones!"

Chapter Text

Cheryl knew her brother wasn't dead.

Not because they were twins. There was no such thing as twin magic. Magic was not cutesy like that, not pleasant, not beneficial.

No, she knew because that ingrate, FP Jones, had suggested that Jason would leave her, and Cheryl simply refused to believe that Jason ever would. Jason had only made some bad choices. Jason had run away with that walking Betsy Wetsy doll, Polly Cooper, instead of trusting his blood, his twin, to assist him.

He hadn't even bothered to ask Cheryl's thoughts on the Ghoulies.

(Cheryl's thoughts were that, as with most things in Riverdale, she appreciated their aesthetic choices and did not care a fig if they lived or died, so long as they did not threaten her brother.)

She considered all this as she crashed her car through the gates of the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. It produced a terrific shriek, a lot of screaming nuns, a profusion of frightened summer songbirds. Cheryl rolled her eyes as she shoved open the side door and got out.

She already knew no serious damage had been caused. The Blossoms had bargained to rule this town, and there were rules about how a ruler handled their subjects. So Clifford Blossom couldn't blow up the Northside town hall or put poison in the Southside food. Penelope Blossom couldn't strangle town matrons with her bare hands. Jason Blossom couldn't institute school-wide death matches to get rid of annoying classmates. And Cheryl couldn't do much more than be very, very mean to people.

Naturally all the Blossoms wanted to do damage. Their hearts were frozen. They would happily engage in any kind of chaos to unfreeze them. But there were rules about these things.

A nun flapped by, looking frantic about the gate. Cheryl put a spiked heel on the edge of her cassock and tripped her. Another appeared, blocking her way.

"Move, Sister Bertille," she snapped, shoving this nun with surprising strength. "I need to find Polly Cooper."

Darkly, she thought that Polly Cooper wouldn't be all that hard to find, probably. She'd be shining and sweet somewhere, skipping across mountain meadows and singing some free-spirited song that concerned the Mother Abbess. The Cooper girls were like that. Somehow they'd escaped the frozen hell of Thornhill (though Polly and Betty's clod of a father saw this as a bug, not a feature) and emerged on the Northside expressly to become a thorn in Cheryl's side.

She kicked several doors open, startling some praying inmates and making others scream.

The seventh or eighth door revealed Polly Cooper. She did indeed appear shining and sweet, like a wind-up ballerina designed to come to life on Christmas morning. She was praying. Because she was a clod like her father, she was praying out loud.

"Dear God," Polly said. "Give me strength."

"You'll need it," Cheryl said darkly, sauntering inside.

Polly's gaze flicked to her ever so briefly, then back up to God.

"Not now, Cheryl. I'm praying."

It was a dismissal. Cheryl's mouth dropped open.

"Dear God," Polly repeated, "give me strength, and the babies strength--"

"--the what?" Cheryl said.

"And let me look really, really shimmeringly beautiful after they're born, so that I can pull Jason Blossom out of that lake by his hair, dump him, and then he'll feel so jealous and unhappy for the rest of his life every single time that he sees me, that it will be like he's truly never known winter. Like true winter has arrived, and it has my name. Amen."

Cheryl stared down at her, horrified. Polly rose gracefully.

"I'm not here because I'm crazy," she told Cheryl, leaning in and making it confidential even though they were the only two people in the bare little room. "My mom and dad are spreading that around. Really I'm here because I'm pregnant. And because your brother--"

Now Polly's voice shook with beautiful, miserable insanity. Never had she been more Blossom.

"--he said he would love me, but then his whole big plan was go into a lake and stay there forever! Which, by the way, he never consulted me about! And it was stupid! And I'm mad! And people were coming out of the ground and it was scary!"

"You are every definition of the word mad, Sister Clodagh," Cheryl said.

"Please, Cheryl," Polly said. "I know you and your brother know about the founding of this town and the ground and the water and all that stuff."

"Jay-Jay was obsessed with the ground and the water," Cheryl said. "His whole life. He wanted to know what was lurking at the fringes of this town, what daddy was honor-bound to rule and maintain."

"I thought he was cool!"

"The coolest," Cheryl breathed out.

She almost broke down, but caught herself. It was too easy to break down when your day to day life was so cold and barren that emotions caught you by surprise, attacked you like this. There was some significance in the fact that Polly knew the real Jason. And that Jason was alive enough to be dumped. And that Polly indeed knew where he was.

But now Polly was crossing to a small night table and pulling something out of a drawer. Cheryl crowded behind her, eager to see what secrets Polly would reveal next, but Polly only whirled around and stuck out her hand. It collided with Cheryl, so that the thing in her hand clacked against Cheryl's spider brooch.

"That's Nana Rose's ring," Cheryl said. "That's a Blossom family heirloom!"

"I know," Polly said. As she spoke, her voice began to inch up higher and higher. "Jason proposed that we get married. But he didn't say that we were going to get married in a lake. He was like, 'You don't know. There could be a whole city down there.' And I was like, 'Jason. I am not going to get married to you in a church made out of pondscum, officiated by some kind of eel, with a biker as our ringbearer.' They have to beat you up to put you in the water. So you can be more open to whatever weird, creepy mumbo jumbo they do down there. No way!"

Cheryl reeled back. Now the heady hand of rage was closing in on her.

"They beat Jason up?"

"Yeah," Polly said. "That man, Jones or whatever, put Jason through a--" she made little air quotes. "--'gauntlet of pain.' And then he implied that it wouldn't work on me just because I wasn't born in Thornhill or the Southside, which if you think about it is really provincial and sexist."

Cheryl took a moment to consider Polly, who she had come here mostly to berate and frighten. But no. There would be no frightening. Because apparently Polly's porcelain doll beauty concealed a highly satisfying vein of black anger and crazy-woman disgruntlement.

"Polly, we have to get Jay-Jay together," Cheryl decided.

"Why would I do that?" Polly said. "I'm going to have my babies and dump him. That's the plan."

"Have your babies in a miserable nunnery?" Cheryl snapped. "No! Those are Blossom babies. And--"

Sometimes the Blossom propensity for cruelty came in handy.

"--if you dump him now, before you start to show, he'll miserably try to win you back for nine months straight!"

Polly blinked her huge eyes a few times, like this was too great a possibility to truly trust.

"Really?" she said. "Are you sure? Cheryl, you're not having me on?"

Cheryl had dangled a Vixens uniform before Polly for an eternity before ever giving it to her. She had once directed Polly and her sister to the wrong wing of the hospital during a concert just so she could trap them in the empty children's ward, with its creepy overeager year-round staff of party clowns. She had swapped Polly and Betty's Pink Perfection lipsticks for boring old Brown Toast, which had looked terrible on them. So this was a fair question. But this time Cheryl really did want Polly's help, to rescue Jason from slimy sewer-water like FP Jones.

"Pollykins," she told Polly sincerely. "I would never."

-

Absolutely no one was texting Kevin back.

No one. Not Veronica. Not Archie. Not even Betty. It was like they were all mad about his father agreeing to help invade the Southside, which was somewhat unfair, because Kevin's father was just a lonely man who pumped a lot of iron and had only a rudimentary understanding of police procedure, probably just because he'd never been given an opportunity to learn police procedure.

Also, it wasn't anything he did was Kevin's fault, not any more than Jughead or Veronica were responsible for their sinister parents.

Still, sending frantic texts into the void achieved no response. Kevin wasn't included in whatever they were doing right now. He'd been plucked out of their narrative and tossed on the secondary character shelf, all through no fault of his own.

He examined himself in the mirror.

"You know what?" he told his reflection. "It's fine. You are going to have a lot of fun on your own. Maybe you don't even want to be involved in this. You're going to move away to the city and meet a great guy someday. And then it won't matter that your soulmate is crazy and you never got to make out with him--"

The very height of unfairness. Or close to the very height. Kevin hadn't complained because, surrounded by all the shabby poverty of the Southside, it hadn't quite been the very height. But it came close.

"Your hair looks great," he finished, just to end on a positive affirmation. Then he went and rifled through his boardgames to amuse himself. Playing Settlers of Darkwater on your own was less fun than playing it with other people, but it still offered hours of strategy and intellectual reward.

As he was setting up the board, a shadow fell across it.

Jughead's.

"Hey!" Kevin said.

He hadn't been expecting this. Jughead Jones had always been very clear that he was a loner weirdo and an outsider, why did people think he wore that hat (a serious question. Jughead was not Kevin's type, but he did have excellent hair), and didn't people know he was damaged, et cetera.

Honestly, Jughead's shadow was a lot friendlier than Jughead himself, a fact that should have surprised Kevin but didn't, because it wasn't like that was a high bar to clear.

"Heeey, buddy," Kevin told the shadow now. "Want to play Settlers of Darkwater? I've got the board set up..."

The shadow crossed its arms and shook its head very rapidly, like it wanted nothing of the kind.

"Okay," Kevin said, undeterred. "Well, we also have Pirate Deadlands, Conquest of Volgatha, Sorcerers of the White Realm, Castle Ravenhart, Ticket to Alpha Centauri -- that's one where you compete to build the first successful railroad line in outer space. It's a lot harder than it sounds."

But the shadow was just shaking its head again, pointing to the door.

"You want to go out?" Kevin tried. "I can't. I'm grounded. I went to the Southside, remember?"

The shadow kept pointing. Kevin relented.

"Fine, but my dad can't find out!"

His dad was down at the station, breaking the news to the deputies that they might finally have something to do. There would be merriment involved, beers and cigars and Hank Williams records. Kevin let himself out by the back door anyway, just to be safe, and then followed the shadow, which seemed to have a decided plan for the afternoon.

It led Kevin to Riverdale High, where Kevin had a thought. It was a sad thought.

"Hey," he told the shadow gently. "Have you never been to school? Is that it, buddy?"

He would teach it things, he decided. Math and chemistry and biology and history and which summer sports offered the best uniforms and so were worth one's time. That kind of thing.

But the shadow was smacking its forehead with a hand, like this wasn't it. It bounded up the steps. Kevin followed. It raced gracelessly, all shadow arms and shadow limbs, past the main office, the music room, the student lounge, the first floor classrooms. At the end of the hall it turned, and Kevin said, "Wait! No! Not in there!"

But it was too late. It had already slipped into the Bulldogs' locker room.

Kevin decided that he wasn't following.

A shadow hand slipped out and beckoned.

Fine. Maybe he was following.

"But only out of morbid curiosity!" he told the empty hallway. Then he squared his shoulders and went to open the door. Only Moose Mason opened it first, from the other side. And, as always, there was a lot of Moose Mason. All bicep, and then more bicep, and pectoral, and then more pectoral, and so on.

If you listed the muscles just sort of clinically in your head, maybe they were less embarrassingly sexy, Kevin thought.

Moose flexed his bicep. It was embarrassingly sexy.

"Keller," he said, leaning into the door frame. Decidedly draping himself on it. Kevin swallowed. Moose said, "What are you doing here?"

"I think I, uh, left something in the showers."

"Your boner, maybe?" shouted Reggie Mantle, from inside. There was a lot of hooting. Kevin let it glance off him. Reggie was an asshole, and he was especially an asshole to Kevin because Kevin had beaten him several times at tennis and squash and one-on-one hoops, something even Archie had never accomplished. This meant that, though Kevin generally avoided the whole neanderthal locker room scene, he had something of a target painted on his back.

Also, he was gay. So really, two targets.

"Not my boner," he said now, blinking with distaste. "My shampoo."

"Oh," Moose said. "That, uh, that must be why you always get your hair like that, huh?"

"Like what?" Kevin snapped.

"Touchable and yet somehow stylish," Moose said, the answer appearing to have been startled out of him.

"Ho-mo!" sang Reggie. More hooting. Moose blushed.

"Okay, you know what, just move," Kevin decided, and pushed him out of the way. Inside it was steamy and full of bare chests that he figured he wasn't going to avert his eyes from because he had every right to be here, and anyway the Bulldogs didn't seem to realize they lived their lives continually inside the intro to a gay softcore porn, but somehow they thought he should be the one embarrassed about that.

No.

"Like what you see, Keller?" Reggie said, flicking at his own nipples like a moron. Chuck Clayton doubled over laughing.

"Seven out of ten," Kevin told him.

"Hey, that's a lie!" Reggie said, enraged. "You know I'm a ten, Keller! You know it!"

The only ten was Moose, actually. But Kevin ignored him too, turning towards the showers because that was where he'd said he would go, looking for the shadow all the while.

It was standing by the showers, pointing at where the Bulldogs had their jerseys hung on a peg. It held up three fingers.

"You want me to steal number three? No!" Kevin whispered.

Three fingers again.

Frowning, Kevin rifled quickly through the jerseys but couldn't find number three. He wasn't sure any player had number three. But the shadow just held up those fingers again.

Oh. It wanted him to take three jerseys. Well, that would not only not go unnoticed, it would also lead to a degree of high school ignominy that Kevin had absolutely no wish to bring on himself.

"This is a scavenger hunt of humiliation, and I won't do it," he whispered to the shadow.

"Hey, Keller!" Reggie shouted. "What are you doing in there? Jerking off?"

More laughter.

"You're Cro-Magnon man, Reggie!" Kevin shouted back.

"I'm a pro magnum man," Reggie said, coming into the locker room and leaning sleazily against one tiled wall. "I'm all about using that size XXL protection."

Chuck Clayton followed him in, grinning, then stopped.

"What the hell is that?" he said.

He was looking at the shadow. Kevin tried to play it cool.

"What -- what's what?"

"That!" Chuck said.

The shadow had somehow contrived to set its beanie at a jaunty angle, so that it looked a little more demonic than it had before. Slowly, it lifted up a shadow hand and shot Chuck and Reggie the finger.

"Jughead," Reggie breathed out. His face had gone completely white. "I know what that is! It's Jughead!"

"It's a shadow," Kevin pointed out, for accuracy's sake.

"What are you, stupid?" Reggie said. "It's his ghost! He walked off to the Southside and got murdered like Jason, and now he's back to haunt us!"

He dashed out of the shower room and came back with a bat.

"Get the hell out of our temporal plane, Jughead!"

Kevin stared at him.

"You're going to try to get rid of a ghost with a bat?"

"Do you have any better ideas?" Reggie snapped.

The Bulldogs were beautiful, and yet between them there were not many functioning brain cells. Chuck had dashed out, too, and now came back with a hockey stick, and others acquired lacrosse sticks and tennis rackets and more bats. The shadow put its hands on its hips, nodded to Kevin, and held up three fingers again to remind him. Then, without warning, it sprinted off.

With howls of rage, the Bulldogs followed, though most of them were only wearing towels. Kevin stared after them, astonished.

"Alright then," he said, after a few minutes had passed.

He picked up three jerseys, trying for the cleanest ones, which ended up being Reggie, Chuck, and Moose's, because his life was like this. Then he followed after them.

Riverdale High was fast becoming a shambles. The shadow was darting in and out of doors. The Bulldogs were following. Lockers were banged into and knocked over, papers were strewn about the floor, intermingling with towels. Naked jocks ran for cover in the student lounge, and returned wearing sofa covers or the school flag or the American flag, in order to join the fray again. The water fountain was nearly knocked off the wall. Reggie was howling in the center of the hall, shouting orders. Dilton Doiley had stumbled out of one of the science labs and was now trying to say to whoever would listen, "It's ectoplasmic. Maybe the only way to get rid of it is via human sacrifice."

He sounded thrilled at the prospect.

"Stop being creepy and help get the ghost, Doiley!" Reggie shouted.

At this point, the door to the music room opened a crack. Three heads popped out. They were wearing cat ears.

"What is going on?" snapped Josie McCoy. "We're working in here, and you're serving up the cadence of chaos."

"Oh, not me," Kevin said mildly. "Reggie thinks he's found a ghost."

At this, all three of the Pussycats strode out, surveying the grim scene of Jughead's shadow perched on the last remaining locker bay and Reggie and Dilton and Bulldogs attempting to build a mountain of ruined lockers to better reach it.

The Pussycats were Riverdale High royalty, stunning, serene at all times, and simply a cut above the rest. Now they were also annoyed at having their practice interrupted. Josie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Keep it down, Mantle, or I'll make your baritone a soprano!"

Reggie stopped trying to nab the shadow with a hockey stick long enough to say, "Sexy," and then added, "I'm just trying to defend the school from this creep! Jughead's gotten murdered or something, and now he's haunting us!"

Josie rolled her eyes.

"Haunting you, maybe. I never even talked to him."

"It's sad that he's dead, though," Val noted.

"We should write a song for his concert," said Melody.

"He's gonna haunt you three too!" Reggie told them. "Jughead was always lurking, and pissing me off, and wearing that stupid hat, and he did it all to you, too!"

"I don't think wearing a hat is something you do to somebody," Kevin cut in, but now the shadow was leaping from the lockers and dashing back their way. It stopped briefly in front of the door to the Vixens' changing room, made a rude gesture, and then went inside.

"You pervert, Jughead!" Reggie shouted.

The Bulldogs bore down on them. Kevin managed to press two of three pussycats against the wall for their own safety (Val stood her ground and rolled her eyes), and then there came the sound of breaking glass from the Vixens' changing room.

"Oh my god," Josie said, sounding irritated. "Are they going to destroy the whole school?"

Kevin and the pussycats crept up to the changing room. More lockers had been knocked over, girls were shrieking and running to the showers, and Ginger Lopez was just standing on a bench and crying very hard. The shadow was perched on a sink. When it saw Kevin looking, it pointed at a pile of uniforms and held up three fingers.

In the meantime, Reggie had acquired a net. He brought it down on the shadow, yelling, "Got you!" The net passed through the shadow. Reggie howled with rage again.

"What does it want?" Melody asked. "Acceptance? Archie Andrews? A rad song? We can give it a rad song."

"We may have to sacrifice Archie, too, which is a price I for one am willing to pay," Dilton said, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Kevin decided that enough was enough. He shoved his way to the bench and politely asked Ginger to step down. She did, looking confused. When Kevin climbed up, the shadow floated over to him, as indeed he had known it would.

"Keller?" Reggie said, rounding on him. "Are you in league with this poltergeist? All the freaks together?"

"No," Kevin snapped. "But I know what the shadow wants."

Next to him, the shadow crossed its arms and nodded. A murmur passed through the assembled group of students, all tightly packed into the changing room.

"Is it blood?" Dilton asked.

"No," Kevin said.

"Damn," said Dilton. Kevin squinted at him for a second, then pressed on.

"It was denied acceptance at Riverdale High. It was never truly treated as one of you. So now, as payback, it demands a tribute from the school. Six items which contain the very essence of Riverdale High."

He brandished the jerseys. Chuck made an injured noise when he recognized that one was his, but shut up when the shadow began nodding vigorously to demonstrate that Kevin had it right.

"That's just three items," Trevor Brown pointed out.

"Right," Kevin said. "Maybe it's a bisexual shadow. It wants three Vixens uniforms too."

"Hold on," Josie McCoy said, holding up a hand. "It wants the essence of Riverdale High and it's going for the most predictable options like this? Football player and cheerleader? All-American, tropey, ultra-hetero, boring, white bread--"

The shadow leaned forward suddenly, hands on its hips, suspenders flying, like it really was Jughead Jones about to launch into a discussion of Americana tropes and their relative narrative merits.

"Oh god no," said Tina Patel faintly. "He's gonna start talking about Tarantino or something."

There was alarm from every corner of the student body, including Kevin, since he hadn't liked that particular English class rant either.

"This is why I was mean to him in life!" Reggie crowed. "This! So you see, Jughead, I had reasons, and it's not fair to haunt me when I had reasons!"

"I was just suggesting," Josie cut in, in a loud voice, "that maybe he consider giving the Pussycats their due instead. We have three much more unique and meaningful Riverdale High totems right here."

She whipped her cat ear headband off of her head. Val and Melody followed suit. The room went silent. The shadow held up its hands, like it was weighing the two options.

For once, Jughead Jones commanded the full and total attention of his classmates, though he wasn't here to see it. After half a second, the shadow nodded at Josie.

Kevin let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding, and the whole room, buoyed along by the weird frenzy of the afternoon, erupted into cheers. Josie climbed up on the bench and bowed, because she was a natural show-woman. Kevin bowed, too. So, for that matter, did the shadow.

-

Jughead naturally had no idea this was happening. It would have been hard to wrap his mind around it in any case, because the events at Riverdale High seemed to come from the kind of wacky high school comedy he'd only ever bothered with if it came packaged as a double-feature with something darker. Also because the something darker was currently happening to him.

The Whyte Wyrm had been ransacked. The door hung off its hinges, the bar was a ruin of smashed bottles, and outside, several motorcycles lay listlessly on their sides.

It wasn't the only place ruined. Trailer doors banged open, battered by the wind. Sheets and jackets littered the trailer park ground. Inside some of the trailers, people seem to have gone in a hurry, mid-meal. Inside FP's trailer, the couch cushions had been destroyed, the armchairs were shattered, the kitchen cupboards were smashed.

The autumn persisted. There was still that ever-present mist, those golden leaves blanketing everything. But the liquor stores had the appearance of having been raided, and so did the bodega. Jughead crouched in the alleyway behind it and stared in horror at the scene in Pickens Park.

Some Ghoulies had apparently tried to come up through the ground. One had been shot. The others were cuffed, on their knees, and they did not look half as fearsome as Ghoulies should. They looked subdued by reality, by the men with guns.

They had the Serpents, too. Tall Boy was struggling as he was forced down. Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs were already kneeling on the ground. But it wasn't just them. It was the librarian, it was the Whyte Wyrm bartender, it was even, here and there, a child or two.

Patrolled by armed men. Hemmed off from him by a line of trucks and suburbans. The invasion was here, and it was proceeding in an orderly fashion.

Jughead felt a balloon of panic well in him. He could hardly breathe. He backed into the alley, trying to understand how this had happened, how these men with their guns could even see the Southsiders--

Did those trucks say Lodge Industries? Had Clifford reneged, and sold Veronica's father the Southside? Of course he had. Jughead had been so stupid--

A hand settled on his shoulder. Jughead yelled and pulled away, not wanting to be subdued like the others, and in an instant his dad had him by the shoulders and was clapping his other hand on Jughead's mouth. FP looked as crazed as Jughead felt.

"How'd this happen?" he demanded. "They should've gotten some warning from -- from the snake charmer--"

Jughead shook his head mutely. FP's eyes darkened with understanding.

"Right," he said. "Right. She's betrayed us. It's happened at last."

He broke off and backed away, and now Jughead noticed that his dad wasn't alone. Archie, Betty, Veronica, and Mrs. Cooper of all people were just behind him, also staring in horror at the scene in Pickens Park.

"Of course," Veronica said darkly. "You have to round them up before you can start evicting."

But Jughead hardly paid attention to her. His father was backing away from him now, a hand to his mouth, eyes wild.

"You take that off," he said, pointing at the jacket. "Why are you-- who told you you could wear that? Take it off, Jughead!"

"I'm a Serpent," Jughead said, shaking his head. "I'm Southside, dad! Like you!"

Distantly, he caught Archie's look of upset, and Mrs. Cooper rolling her eyes. But his dad had the worst reaction.

"No, no, no," he said, leaning against the alley wall. Without warning, he suddenly kicked over a trash can, the gesture too violent. Jughead flinched.

"Jughead," FP said, sounding ugly. "That is the worst choice you could have ever made. You never should have agreed to walk in here."

Then he unleashed a tirade of curses, and fell on the trash can again. Alice Cooper waved her hands frantically and hissed at him, trying to get him to stop, but it was like FP had gone wild.

"You were supposed to be smarter than this!" he said savagely. "Everything's falling apart, and you -- you turn your back on the chance I gave you, the chance to get out of here, to be more--"

Alice slapped him. It was such a hard slap that FP's head snapped back with the shock of it. Then he blinked up at her, as though dazed.

"This is not the time to unleash a tirade of abuse on your sixteen year old," Alice hissed. "Especially since it might alert those men over there and get us all caught, FP!"

Archie, Betty, and Veronica were all nodding mutely. FP gave Jughead another dark look, cursed once, and stomped off to the far mouth of the alley, where he crouched down and continued to curse quietly at the pavement. Jughead just stared at his father while he did this.

He felt so miserable it was almost like feeling nothing at all. Dimly, he wished he was nothing. Jason Blossom would die, his friends would be evicted, and his father had gone volatile and violent. Because of Jughead himself.

"Jug?" Archie said carefully. He put a hand on Jughead's shoulder, and that was how Jughead realized that his whole body was shaking.

"We have to get out of here. Come on," Alice was telling the others. She took Jughead by the arm and tugged him in the direction of FP. Jughead closed his eyes. He wanted to vanish. He didn't know where they were going. Maybe it didn't matter. Distantly, he heard Alice snapping something to his father about going to the hideout.

"The hideout?" Betty was saying.

Jughead found his voice. It sounded strange, almost faraway.

"The Whyte Wyrm's trashed. And the quarry's been compromised."

"You really did go and become a Serpent," Alice said, like this was a character flaw on his part. "I didn't mean those. I meant our hideout. Mine and FP's. Come on."

She handed Jughead back to Archie so she could lead them, so that they all tripped through the misty gloom after her. Betty and Veronica kept casting looks back at Jughead. Archie did not stop holding onto him, and somehow put himself between Jughead and FP. Jughead felt grateful and hated it.

Alice took them to the empty drive-in lot and gestured for them to move fast. In her mint coat, with her perfect makeup and prim pencil skirt, the action was very Northside and very Alice Cooper, like an aggrieved teacher herding a great many toddlers who'd missed out on their nap.

"Pick the lock on that. No, not that, Betty. That's the snackbooth. The other one! Yes, now! Of course now!"

Betty kneeled down on the dirty leaves and picked the lock. They all more or less fell into the projection booth. Alice was the last one in and she closed and locked the door firmly behind her, then flicked on a desk lamp.

Even through his misery, Jughead could appreciate the shabby little room. It was as cluttered as the lake shore, and in fact most of this must have come from there. Old film canisters, somehow not damaged. A delicate chipped tea set on a shelf. An armchair piled with moldy heart-shaped cushions. A large chunk of amber on a chain, with a scorpion trapped inside. A hot pink makeup case. It wasn't the inside of Jughead's mind, but it was definitely the inside of somebody's, someone who had left it all here to collect cobwebs long ago.

There was a sheath of papers on a nearby shelf. He picked them up.

A. SMITH'S REPTILIAN REPORT, A COLLECTION OF THE GOINGS-ON OF THE WATER CREATURES

"Nobody's operated the drive-in since you left," his dad murmured, indistinctly.

"I don't know why you think I care," Alice Cooper said.

"You're not fooling anybody!" Jughead's father said back.

Jughead stared at them.

"How do you know her?" he asked.

It was better than asking Veronica why her father was evil, or asking Betty why she'd brought her mother along, or asking Archie to stop looking at him worriedly. It was better than asking how he had managed to somehow break his father.

FP looked grim, but also satisfied about something.

"You're looking at the original snake charmer," he said, gesturing at Alice with a thumb.

This brought thoughts of Penny roaring back.

"Penny's evil!" Jughead blurted out.

"I know!" FP snapped.

"No, dad. You don't. She has Jason. She delivered him to the Ghoulies!"

FP cursed again, but it was drowned out by the sounds of dismay from Archie and Betty.

"We have to go help him!" Archie said.

But something was occurring to Jughead.

"Wait," he said, looking at his father. "You were going to give him to Clifford too, weren't you? You lured him into the water with promises of safety, and then you took his jacket to Thornhill to make some kind of exchange."

Something dark crossed over FP's face.

"I didn't know Clifford had already allied with the Ghoulies," he bit out. "I wanted to see if he would ally with the Serpents. We want to end the curse too, Jughead! And I didn't think the boy was serious. I didn't think his father would really want to hurt him. We couldn't shelter him, anyway. He's a Blossom. He belongs with the Blossoms. Like it or not, there are rules in this town about who belongs where."

"Right," Jughead shot back, suddenly overcome. "Unless you want your child to belong nowhere, which you apparently did!"

FP reeled back. For a second, Jughead saw every inch of his own misery reflected in his father.

"Uh, hi, excuse me," Veronica Lodge put in. "This is ultra-tragic. Like, an absolute gangster-Americana Daedalus and Icarus thing. I'm not trying to downplay it. But we have bigger things to deal with, like the North and Southsides colliding, maybe?"

Everyone looked at her.

"You're being evicted!" she said to FP, stamping her foot like this could get him to see reason.

He blinked.

"Christ. From our home?"

"Okay, first of all, home's a grand term for this place," Veronica said, "and yes!"

Now Betty cut in. "Jug, Hiram Lodge wants to force the Southsiders out onto the Northside, even though it could make some of them crazy, because he wants to cause a panic."

Horror settled in Jughead's bones.

"What?" he said. "People could die! I mean, Sheriff Keller's not gonna blink at shooting a rogue Southsider--"

"--which will then kill a Northsider," Archie put in.

"Right, and multiply that by all the Southsiders--"

"Ronnie," Betty said, "Your pearls. They're the missing spring. Could they help with this somehow? Could they help undo our soulmate connections at least?"

"No way," said FP, shaking his head. "There's two curses here, right? First the seasons got split up. Then my people, us, we asked for the two towns to be linked, so that the Northside couldn't just shove us away. And a little bit of springtime isn't gonna fix that second thing."

"Even if we want it to," said Alice, looking irritated.

Something was now occurring to Betty, animating her.

"Mom," she said, sitting up in the moldy armchair and letting the heart-shaped cushions fall to the floor, "didn't you erase your soulmate link somehow? You came to the Northside. You crossed without going crazy. And your -- your Northsider has either never touched you, or--"

Alice began to look extremely uncomfortable.

"Look," she said, short about it. "I switched."

There was silence for a moment.

"You what?" Betty said.

"I was not just a Southsider, Betty!" Alice hissed. "I was descended from a carnival witch. A snake charmer. Spellman, Smith, and--"

"My parents do business with them," Veronica said, wrinkling her nose.

"Well, I don't know why," Alice said hurriedly. "I don't know them at all. All I know is that I was born with a little magic, so I used it to switch with my soulmate. I stranded her on the Southside so I could take her life on the Northside."

Then, almost snidely, she added, "FP helped."

"Helped locate her," FP clarified, for the children. "While I was dropping by on the Northside to see Fred. That was it."

For a second, there was silence. Then Betty spoke up.

"Mom," she said. "That's horrible. You stole somebody's life."

Alice looked shaken.

"I know," she said. "I know. But you have to believe that I had a reason."

She looked at FP. FP dropped his head into his hands.

"She did, Betty," he said, after a few minutes. "She had the best one."

Then he shuddered, put his hands down, and for some reason looked right at Jughead.

Chapter Text

After a minute, FP said, "Look. It was wrong, what your mom and I did. But Penny's no peach either."

Then he rounded on Jughead.

"That's why you should have known better than to mess with her!"

Betty recognized the look on Jughead's face before anyone else did. She thought she must have looked like that a lot, if only for an instant, in those agonizing milliseconds before she dug her nails into her palms. That was the look she must have when she felt most ragged, when she wanted to most come undone.

She had come undone now. At least once. With Cheryl. Now, maybe, it was Jughead's turn.

"You didn't tell me about her," Jughead was saying. His voice crept up, up, up. "You didn't tell me anything about anything! And now Toni and Sweets and Fangs are going to be pulled from their homes and used as pawns in Hiram Lodge's sick game! My friends! And you knew so much, and didn't tell me any of it!"

He slammed his hand on a shelf, knocking a chipped old tea set askew. Betty's mother made a shocked and appalled noise, which Betty thought was a little rich coming from a woman who had stolen someone else's life.

For a second, she wanted to do the same thing Jughead was doing. Resolutely go enraged, go dark. Betty Cooper was supposed to be too friendly for that. She was supposed to be sunshine. Never mind that she had roots in Thornhill, and on the Southside too. Never mind that her mother was a liar and possibly a conwoman, that her sister was in an institution, that she'd just learned how easy it would have been for Betty to grow up here, in this horrible shadowy place, with no sunshine at all.

"Juggie," she said instead.

She had a wild thought that Jughead would listen to her, because he always had, and sure enough he did. He flicked his gaze to her. He looked miserable.

"We're going to help your friends," she told him. "Right, Arch?"

Because it wouldn't do to appeal to her mother or FP, and Veronica had bigger problems.

But Archie, who was normally wonderful at support, now blundered.

"Jug, how long have you even known them?" he said, looking confused. "I mean: friends? Just because you're wearing that jacket? Even though you've only been here for, like..."

This did nothing to abate the misery on Jughead's face, only deepened it into a decidedly ugly grimace. Betty cast around for something to say to make it better, but Veronica beat her to it.

"Time is broken," she told Archie, like she couldn't believe he hadn't caught on yet. "So who cares? If he says they're his friends, they're his friends. We have bigger problems! Like -- like--"

She reached up with both hands for a moment, as though she were trying to grasp some insubstantial bit of air that kept eluding her.

It didn't elude Betty.

"How do we put time right again?" she asked.

Everyone stared at her. For a moment, silence.

Then Veronica slipped off her necklace. "I can't help but feel like the seasons would slip back somehow," she said, frowning, "if my parents hadn't somehow put the spring into... Well... These."

"That may be why they have business with a snake charming witch company," FP suggested.

Veronica nodded, frowning.

"Business to help them in business. In the business of selling people what belongs to everybody. God! It's so tasteless."

"Oh my gosh," Betty breathed out, as the lightning bolt hit.

Everyone stared at her.

"V," she said urgently. "That's it! All the seasons rightfully belong to all of us. So we have to force the spring on everybody, which is easy, because we can take the pearls wherever we want. But we also need to get some of the autumn to Riverdale and to Thornhill. And some of winter to Riverdale and the Southside. And some summer down here, and up to the Blossoms too!"

Everyone stared at her.

"We need to do what the Lodges did!" Betty said, waving at Archie's duffel bags of pearls. "Trap some of the seasons, enough so we can put them wherever we want. And put them all everywhere. All of them! Make every part of this land a part that can experiencing all parts of the year. That's how you disrupt this weird separation!"

"Betty," Archie put in, "that's just, like, moving stuff around--"

"No," FP said. "She's got the right of it. She's thinking in story terms. That's how these things work. You gotta have the a sense of logic that's a little removed. Like a snake charmer's."

Betty's mother didn't disagree, but naturally she couldn't agree totally, because Alice never did when Betty was the one talking.

"Wait a second," she said. "And then what? Even if we could do this havey-cavey plan of Betty's, that doesn't set everything right again. Hiram Lodge would still own the Southside."

But Veronica said, thoughtfully, "I think that will mean a lot less once he can't make a cheap dollar off of it, Mrs. Cooper. I say we do the plan."

"How?" Archie demanded. "We don't have a snake charmer to make the autumn into pearls, or the summer, or the winter. Unless..."

He trailed off, looking hopefully at Alice. She frowned.

"I haven't been a snake charmer in years," she said, short about it. "I had to trade that to Penny when I swapped lives with her."

Everyone was quiet for a moment as they considered this.

FP exhaled, hard. "Guess we have to get her to do it, then. Use her witch powers for good. That's gonna have to be you and me, Alice. We're the only ones who have something she wants."

Betty realized what he meant. A life on the Northside. Her mom's life. She swallowed hard.

"Mom?" she said.

Alice's face was white.

"Mom," Betty said again.

She didn't want a parent living on the Southside. She didn't want her family split down the middle in this way. But she also didn't fear it. It wasn't that she didn't love her mother. It was that there had always been an odd, powerful vein in Alice, and maybe that was because Alice wasn't meant to review weekly concerts and organize tupperware parties. And Betty loved her, of course she did, but there was a clear and appealing danger in the thought of a world set right, a world restored somehow, even if it meant her mother lost her Northside life. Even if it meant that Betty and Polly -- they would be losing their Northside mother.

But maybe they could gain someone more real, Betty thought, looking around at the strange little den her mother had made of the drive-in booth. Maybe they would finally meet someone more understandable, too.

"She's been asking about you," FP put in. "For years and years and years, Alice. Wanting me to get you. Wanting me to lure you back somehow. Never did because, hell. I'm not so much of a fool that I think you'd come if I asked. But, also, it never seemed right to do that to you."

For an instant, Betty thought she saw a soft look on her mother's face. But that had to be impossible, because this was Alice and Alice was never soft. Anyway, it was gone in a flash, replaced by a hard gaze and a harder voice.

"Well, lucky for Penny, now it seems like I have no choice," she said.

FP nodded.

"Like I said," he told the kids, staring around at them. "Alice and I go talk to her. Not the rest of you. Rest of you should find something that you think can hold each of the other seasons. Winter, summer, fall. Jug, you should take--"

"I'm rescuing my friends," Jughead said. He'd pulled himself up on a table in the corner, among the old film canisters, and was hugging his knees. But his voice was very clear.

FP said, "Hang on. You're not taking on Hiram Lodge's goons, Jughead."

"I'm rescuing my friends," Jughead said again. His head shot up. There were spots of color on his pale cheeks. "Before Hiram Lodge turns them into his captured slaves! Before they get shot trying to escape! Before they become the disposable nobodies in this whole sordid story!"

"You know what?" Veronica said. "I'll join you. I don't especially want my father to get away with anything, and nabbing three Southsiders right from under him suits me perfectly."

"I can go too," Archie began, but Alice cut in.

"No," she said. "You go with Betty. We still need someone to put these pearls in a safe place and go get appropriate totems for the other seasons."

Archie subsided, frowning a little.

Betty remembered something.

"Mom?" she said. "Who'll save Jason Blossom?"

Alice whirled on her.

"Betty, we can't solve every problem!" she said. "You just use your head and try to find something FP and I can present to Penny, once we've talked her around!"

FP nodded.

"The faster we each do our pieces, the better this'll go," he said. "Gives Hiram less time to unleash chaos, right?"

Everyone nodded glumly. Archie sighed, and shouldered his duffel bags again. Veronica slipped her necklace back on. Jughead slid gracelessly off the table.

"Let's go," he told Veronica.

"Wait," his dad said.

At the door, he grabbed Jughead and pulled him into a hug. Then he spoke rapidly into Jughead's hair.

"I know I've got no right to tell you not to do this. I know that, Jug. But I need you to be careful."

Jughead's face was unreadable, and then he buried his head in the crook of his father's neck and nodded once. He pushed off, and then opened the door to the mist, holding it for Veronica before passing through himself.

"Now you," Alice said, waving her fingers at Betty. "Back to the Northside. Only go to Thornhill if you absolutely have to. Now that I think about it, FP and I should be able to find totems for the autumn, so you just worry about those other places and get out of here, Betty."

Cooper women didn't do dramatic, attention-grabbing hugs. So Betty just nodded. But before she and Archie left, she turned to her mom.

"Mom?" she said. "What FP said to Jughead? I want to say that. To you."

Alice's face was the picture of surprise. And it was soft. Now Betty knew for sure it was soft. She'd never expected to see that, but Cooper women contained multitudes.

She stepped out into the mist.

-

The logical place to take the pearls was Pop's, because Pop was perhaps the only adult in town who would not immediately hand them over to the Lodges, Sheriff Keller, or the Mayor. So to Pop's they headed.

It didn't escape Archie that he and Betty had the dullest and safest task. Clearly it didn't escape Betty either.

"Do you think this is the magic of the Northside, Archie?" she asked, worrying her bottom lip. "Give the dark outsiders--

"--and the darkly beautiful heiress, i.e. Ronnie--" Archie put in.

"--the real work? And for the good boy and good girl--"

"Hardly any work at all!" Archie said hotly. "A vacation!"

An eternal summer. All problems minimized, or banished. Solved right away. As Archie hauled the duffels into Pop's, he frowned, thinking of this. Thinking of how his family had done this, too, to Riverdale. Helped split it down the middle and made some people suffer more than others. And then they'd done nothing to fix it.

You should always do something to fix it.

Betty hailed Pop, and launched into a brief explanation of the pearls. Archie just dropped the duffels glumly on the counter and took a seat on a barstool, burying his head in his hands.

Maybe he and Jughead had never been meant to be friends. The thought was stark and painful, but he couldn't get it to go away. Because Jug had walked into the Southside and shrugged on a whole new self, with whole new friends, ones who were more like him. Who had always been able to feel pain, probably. Who didn't, like Archie, always say the wrong thing. Who understood him, because they were autumn people, sharp and a little frightening, the way Jughead was, not dull and lucky, like Archie.

"I don't see why Pop's menus can't be totems," Betty was saying, in the meantime.

Pop was shaking his head.

"I told you, Betty. Pop's isn't for the Northside. It's for everybody. It's for Riverdale."

"That's what I mean!"

"No, you mean the Northside. I mean everybody. Everybody, everybody in this town. Riverdale's got more sides to it than just the North one. I remember that, I think. I think that's why I made my restaurant for everybody from the start."

Betty blinked at him, considering this. Archie stared dejectedly at them, and only caught up a full minute after Betty nodded her agreement.

But he did catch up.

"Riverdale is all of us," he said. "Right, Pop? Northsiders. Southsiders. Even Thornhill."

Pop smiled at him.

"That's right, Archie!"

Riverdale was Archie, but it was Jughead too. That was such a relief it made him feel light. It was both of them. The summer-autumn town, the birthplace of both the dull five and dime store and the prickly safety pin, could have room for both of them. Archie would make it have room for both of them, because Jug was as suited to this town as he was, even if he represented a different part of it.

And actually, Jughead wasn't the only person like that.

"Betty," Archie said. "Betty, Betty. I figured out something we can do."

Betty looked at him a little despairingly.

"We have to find something we can trap the summer in, Arch, and then the winter--"

"Screw that! We have to help. We have to be more useful. Betty, you don't want to be safe and protected any more than I do. You want to do your part--"

"This is our part--"

But Archie was shaking his head.

Abner Andrews had helped trade half of this town away, and then refused to help that half because their problems weren't his problems. Fred Andrews had met his soulmate, and refused to help that soulmate because FP's problems weren't his problems.

Well, Archie wouldn't be like them. He wouldn't.

"I want to help Jason Blossom, Betty," he said. "Pop can figure this out, right Pop?"

"I can try," Pop put in.

Archie nodded. "That's all we need. But Jason -- he needs us. Who else is gonna help him?"

The Pop's bell rang.

"Pop!" Cheryl Blossom trilled. "One boring vanilla shake and one black cherry bomber for the road! We have brother-rescuing to do!"

"Polly?" Betty asked incredulously.

Polly Cooper and Cheryl Blossom stared at them. Archie and Betty stared back.

"Ugh," Cheryl said.

"Betty! Mom and dad locked me up! And I went because I was mad at Jason and needed some alone time, but now I'm back and let me tell you. I am mad at everybody. Mom and dad and Jason! The first thing I am gonna do when I see him is give him his ring back! That will make him miserable."

"That ring is the very essence of Thornhill and belongs far out of your Bedlam Barbie clutches anyway," Cheryl noted.

Archie and Betty exchanged a look.

"The very essence of Thornhill?" Betty said. "As in, fit to contain some of winter itself?"

Cheryl tossed her shining hair over her shoulder.

"Naturally, Betty."

"Uh, Cheryl," Archie said. "You wouldn't have any other jewelry like that, would you?"

Cheryl fixed her dark gaze on him.

"Why, are you two Boxcar Children planning to take inventory of our jewels so you can steal them to feed your sad little friend on the Southside? Think again. All I have on me are my iconic spider brooches."

Her nails clacked against the red one on her coat and the black one on her hip.

Archie looked at Betty. Betty looked at Archie.

"If you want to turn away," Betty began.

"Nah. I'll help you this time."

"Okay, but Pop should look away."

"What?" Pop said. He'd turned on the blender to make Cheryl's milkshake order.

"Nothing," Archie said hurriedly. "Nevermind."

They tackled Cheryl. She went down with a shriek, clawing at them. Archie hurriedly pinned her arms so she wouldn't hurt herself or them as Betty undid her brooches. When this was done, Betty held a hand out to her sister, and Polly bemusedly dropped the ring into it.

"Here, Pop," Betty said, "Hold onto these for us, will you?"

"What's that?" Pop said. "Oh, Cheryl. Here's your order."

"Hardy Boy-Girl larcenists!" Cheryl was shrieking. "Bobbsey Twin thieves! Polly Pickpocket!"

Polly shrugged and took a sip of her vanilla milkshake as Pop put the ring and spider brooches with the pearls.

"Hey, Cheryl," he said. "Archie and Betty want to rescue Jason too."

"I don't need their highway robber help!" Cheryl declared.

"Actually," Archie put in. "You do. We just saw Jug, and he told us that Jason's with the Ghoulies now. And they're gonna kill him!"

Cheryl reeled back in horror. Betty surveyed her, then tightened her ponytail.

"The Ghoulies hide in Fox Forest," she said. "Juggie told me that, a long time ago. I think that's where we have to look."

"Fine," Cheryl snapped. "But not for you! For Jay-Jay!"

-

After Cheryl's red convertible pulled away for the railroad tracks, bearing four passengers this time, the Pop's bell rung again. And again. And again. And again.

The children of Riverdale High all piled in, following the oddest Pied Piper the diner had ever encountered.

"Juggie," Pop said, nodding at it.

The shadow pulled itself up on his counter, where it sat cross-legged. Kevin Keller solemnly laid six things next to it. Three Bulldog jerseys. Three sets of Pussycat ears. Reggie Mantle pushed his way to the front of the crowd and demanded, "Is that it? Is this stupid ghost pleased now?"

Most of the other Bulldogs had put on pants at least, but Reggie was clad only in a toga fashioned from the American flag that had hung in the student lounge. Jughead's shadow regarded him for a moment, then brought four fingers to its chin and brushed Reggie off.

"Juggie. That's not nice," Pop murmured, as Kevin said, "Well, that's as clear an answer as any, Reggie."

He turned so that he was facing the crowd and leaned against the counter. Out of the corner of his mouth, he asked the shadow, "Well? What do we do now?"

The shadow's fingers floated to a menu someone had left on the counter. It started pointing out letters, forming words. Kevin held out a hand, and Pop handed him a napkin and a pen to record this.

"Hurry up, Keller!" Reggie demanded. "I can't stand being haunted like this!"

"Leave him alone," Josie hissed. "Can't you see he's trying?"

"Yeah, Reggie," said Chuck Clayton of all people. "Slow down on the asshole pedal for once."

"Kevin's, like, our shaman," said Moose. "Let him be our shaman."

Reggie looked betrayed. Kevin felt momentarily complete.

The shadow spelled out three words. NORTHSIDE. SOUTHSIDE. THORNHILL. Kevin considered them all, thinking hard.

"Feel free to stand on the counter when you need to, Kevin," Pop whispered to him. "A leader should always have a podium. I can wipe it down after. Oh, and I think you kids'll need these."

He hauled up two duffel bags, each bursting with pearls. Then he laid a fancy diamond ring and two spider brooches on the table. Kevin blinked at it all.

"I..I have no idea what to do with this."

The shadow smacked its head. Then it was back to the menu.

IT'S NOT ANY HARDER THAN BUILDING THE FIRST RAILROAD LINE IN OUTER SPACE, it said.

Right. No. That had to be true. Ticket to Alpha Centauri was a game of both breathtaking complexity and mind-numbing patience, requiring diligent puzzle-solving skills and a predilection for strategy. This was just figuring out what Veronica's springtime pearls had to do with Cheryl's brooches, another fancy item from wintry Thornhill, and the essence of sunny Riverdale High.

He had it. He jumped on the counter.

"It's very simple!" Kevin announced. "The key to this game--"

"Game?" Reggie demanded. "This is life and death, Keller! We're being haunted!"

Kevin waved him off.

"The key is the seasons!"

Midge Klump raised her hand.

"Yes, Midge?" Kevin said, a little impatiently.

"I've never actually seen any season but summer," she said.

Lots of other people nodded their agreement.

Kevin had an idea.

"Allow me and the ghost to give you the spring," he said. "New. Fresh! Helping make all of us clearer thinkers. Here, here's some for you, and you--"

He began handing out brooches and necklaces, but the shadow waved at him, then pointed down at the letters.

Ah.

"Okay, before we each take one from the first duffel," Kevin said, ignoring how Reggie was declaring he wasn't going to wear any pearl necklaces, pearl necklaces were what he made, not what he wore--

"Before we each take one from the first duffel," Kevin said, louder now. "We need to sort the second duffel into three equal piles, each also containing one jersey, one set of ears, and one piece of, uh, I think Cheryl's jewelry."

"What?" Josie McCoy said, crossing her arms. "Why?"

"The ghost wants to gift one set to us," Kevin told her. "And one to Thornhill. And one to the Southside."

"Why?"

The shadow lurched up so that it was standing on the counter next to Kevin. It made a horror-movie-monster pose. Josie rolled her eyes.

"Okay! I get it! So that we stop being haunted. It's still dumb, though."

Still, the teenagers clustered around the first duffel, pulling out items of jewelry and counting them off. Valerie and Melody and Josie all acquired clipboards and kept the tally. Reggie anxiously paced and did nothing much at all beyond that, although he did look like almost an eight out of ten in his toga.

Kevin still stood on the counter, nodding proudly at the scene.

"Nice going, buddy," he told the shadow. "Not sure what the point is, but I'm going to trust that there is one."

The shadow, however, was slouching. And not just because Jughead was a sloucher. This was a slouch of disappointment.

"What?" Kevin asked it.

Then he realized.

"That's right," Pop said. "We've got nothing for the autumn."

He looked very sad.

"I forgot," Pop mumbled, tugging at his hat. "I forgot. We're missing the autumn. The autumn got shortchanged, didn't it, Juggie? I remember that now."

Chapter Text

Jason Blossom was not having a good fall.

In the summer, he was homecoming king and junior prom king and head of the class, the official face of the school brochure and a shoe-in for the yearly Soul Of Riverdale Award. In the winter, he was his mother's most beloved treasure and the chosen heir, the child Nana Rose Blossom was slightly less likely to wish drowned and an accomplished maple syrup tapper.

In the fall, he had no such luck. The Ghoulies had dragged him into the forest, nearly suffocated him while they built a large cage, put him in the cage, and hung the cage from a tree. Jason immediately identified the tree as a very fine example of a sugar maple, probably planted in the late 1700s. He frowned at it, unhappy. One thing he had to say for the cold and lonely Serpent lake: he hadn't had to look at any maple trees there.

Below, the Ghoulies were feasting. They whooped and cheered, punched each other and threw bottles. They buried themselves and unburied themselves, and ran into trees for the hell of it. They used what look like human bones to drum an eerie kind of music against the trees. Jason hugged his knees and frowned at all of it. Death, he thought, was certain. He hoped it was quick. As he understood it, they were waiting for his father, who wanted to see it happen. That meant it would probably be quick. Clifford had spent so long enduring an endless winter that his patience had been frayed thin. He wanted everything over with, the whole town gone so he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.

Clifford arrived in his 1940 Daimler 4-Litre. It was red. The Blossoms had a fondness for red because the color was a rebuke to the terrible icy bargain they had made, the color of warmth and life. Nature had also seen fit to make them all redheads, or most of them.

Clifford's hair had gone white.

"Jason," he said stiffly, looking up at his son. "You have disappointed me. Utterly. Utterly."

There were always odd, robotic pauses in his words. Jason thought that was where the ice had crept in and settled. He never said this, because the only person who would ever understand it was Cheryl.

Clifford was still speaking.

"If I could kill you myself I would do it," he said.

"So hurry up already!" said the Ghoulie leader, between swigs of some muddy drink from a skull. The other Ghoulies cheered. Clifford ignored them.

"As we all know, I am regrettably bound by our family's contract to do no direct harm. It is a shame, Jason, because you have broken my heart--"

"Kill him!" said the Ghoulie leader, like he was Cheryl leading a chant at halftime. "Kill him!"

The other Ghoulies joined in.

"We're gonna kill him! We're gonna kill him!"

Clifford looked only mildly unsettled by all of this.

"My only consolation is that soon everyone will be dead at the hands of Hiram Lodge, except for myself and your mother and Nana Rose, who is aged and will soon clear herself off."

"We're gonna bury him! We're gonna chop him!"

Clifford frowned, considering something.

"Oh. And Cheryl will be alive. Drat."

"We'll kill her too! We'll kill her too!" chanted the Ghoulies.

"Oh," Clifford said. "Could you?"

The Ghoulies were not given a chance to answer. Headlights illuminated the clearing, warring with the headlights of the Daimler, and suddenly, without any warning, Cheryl's red convertible plowed into her father, knocking him over.

"Jay-Jay!" she shrieked. "Jay-Jay, we're here!"

Then she backed the car over Clifford. It was a gruesome business, smearing blood into the dirt, and the Ghoulies, who had been frozen by her arrival, broke into another cheer. Clifford -- Jason realized -- was most definitely dead now. Jason's heart was too cold for him to care much, but Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper and Jason's girlfriend, Polly, all riding with Cheryl, all surveyed this with no small amount of shock.

The Ghoulies began to dance, some swaying, some seizing up, some bopping their heads in time to their bone music. Their chants took on an even more ominous edge:

HOORAY
HE'S DEAD
HE'S DEAD AND GONE
WE'LL KILL YOU TOO
IT WON'T BE LONG

WE'RE THE GHOULIES
THE GHOU-OULIES
WE HAVE A SINGLE MIND
OUR PLAN IS DEATH
OUR JOY IS DEATH
OUR AIMS ARE MOST UNKIND

Jason grabbed the bars of his cage.

"Cheryl!" he said. "Cheryl, get out of here! Get Polly out of here!"

But Archie Andrews was glaring up at him.

"No way, dude!" he said. "It's okay, anyway! You'll see!"

Jason did not see, and then he did. Or, more accurately, he heard, then he saw. Sirens, and then more light attacking the clearing. Not all of the police cars could get close, but some did. Some collided with the trees, though, because the deputies were overeager. Sheriff Keller was the most overeager, and he ran his car into Jason's tree, making the cage creak dangerously.

"Hey!" Jason said.

"Hi, Jason," the Sheriff said, getting out of his car and brandishing his gun like he was just happy to be using it. "Alright, you damn Casper the ghost deadheads! Hands up!"

Delighted, the Ghoulies swarmed on them.

Jason could only watch the scene in mute horror from above. Ghoulies tried to tear deputies limb from limb. Deputies recklessly pummeled Ghoulies. Someone seemed to have warned Keller and his men that the Ghoulies could come out of the ground, because they didn't seem surprised, just happy to be fighting. Someone also seemed to have told them not to kill anyone, because far more Ghoulies were being cuffed and thrown into police cars than were being shot dead, a fact which seemed to enrage the Ghoulies.

Archie acquired a tree branch and swung it around to protect the girls, and Polly acquired another. Cheryl wailed a great deal.

Betty Cooper forced Cheryl out of the driver's seat, took Cheryl's place, and drove the car to the sugar maple. Then she boldly hopped out. She got in the Daimler, and drove the Daimler several times over Clifford's body -- clearing Cheryl's tracks, Jason realized.

At some point while this was happening, Archie had climbed the maple. Now, with a heroic lunge, he opened the door to the cage, only just barely managing to keep from falling.

"Come on, Jason," he said, once he'd straightened himself on a heavy branch again. He held out a hand.

Jason blinked at him. He looked down. The girls were a fortress of swinging tree branches, keeping everything at bay, but the rest of the clearing was a terrible festival of violence.

"I'm not sure I want to go down there," Jason told Archie weakly.

"Jason Blossom, you come down here right now!" Polly yelled.

Shakily, Jason took Archie's hand and climbed down. When he was safe in the car, Betty, who had the driver's seat again, started the car and pulled them out of the clearing. Cheryl sobbed into Jason's shoulder. Jason turned to look at Polly.

"Polly," he said, for lack of anything better to say. "I thought you'd betrayed me when you refused to go in the water."

Polly slapped him so hard his ears rang.

"Of course I betrayed you! Do you know how creepy it was to watch that man beat you up and throw you in a lake, Jason?"

"But you promised to marry me," Jason said.

"That," Polly said icily, "was when I thought we were going to a farm, Jason."

-

The old Southside church faced Main Street and the river and the Southside bridge. It had once been a grand building, but now it was dingy and ramshackle. The steeple was decaying. The gargoyles had been spray-painted with obscenities. Generations of Southsiders had pillaged the church's glass, so that only the great rose window, high up, remained intact.

But it was perhaps the only building big enough to hold all the Southsiders, so it was here that Hiram's captives were marched. Jughead and Veronica crouched in the gloom beneath the bridge, watching this happen.

"There's a little door around the back, where the rectory was, that's covered up by a dumpster," Jughead told her. "Toni showed it to me once. The Serpents hang out in the rectory sometimes."

"So fun," Veronica said, like it wasn't in fact fun at all.

Jughead glared at her. Veronica relented.

"Apologies for the snoot factor," she said, picking at her sleeve. "To tell you the truth, all my bold declarations of facing down my parents have now predictably fizzled into anxiety."

Jughead frowned, but decided that this was understandable. After a few seconds, he told her as much.

Veronica nodded.

"I mean, they won't kill me," she said quickly. "The grand benefit to being an only child. They could of course make another one, but a quick perusal of the logs in my mother's therapist's office indicates it is not likely. The fire went out there. So I should be our distraction, because they won't kill me."

"That doesn't mean they won't be unpleasant," Jughead said.

He did not see himself as equipped to handle heart to hearts like this. Let alone heart to hearts with fabulously wealthy, vain Quartermaine-heiress types, who had very literally held all of spring in the palms of their hands.

But he'd just had his father turn on him. So he knew something of what Veronica was up against.

"They locked me in my bedroom while they initiated their evil plans. Very gothic-horror. I hope nobody tells Cheryl," Veronica was saying, frowning again. "And they plied me with these fantastic pearls, but of course they've plied their men with those too, so they can see the Southsiders, so some gift those are. Showing you the truth, but in the process making you vulnerable to pain. What a lovely, double-edged present from daddy."

"Are you sure you want to be the distraction?" Jughead asked.

"Of course!" she said.

But then she shook her head.

"But..."

"But?" Jughead said.

"Well, you, Cool Rider, get to ride off into the sunset. Or I hope you do. But I'm going to be in there maybe a minute before daddy's men get me--"

"Veronica," Jughead said. "We're not going to leave you behind. We'll make sure you aren't locked up again."

He realized two seconds after saying this that he was serious. He had never thought of Veronica Lodge as a friend, but neither had he thought of Toni and Sweet Pea and Fangs as friends. Some friends just happened to you. You were just tugged to them, floating along a series of wild events until they were people you wouldn't leave behind. In this way, they were all just natural disasters. You could try to ward them off, but sometimes you would still find yourself slightly helpless in the face of the inevitable. Because someone had offered to be a distraction mostly to piss off her parents, and though Jughead Jones did not like the upper class and he did not like snobbery, he could almost respect that choice.

"Listen," Jughead told her now. "The Serpents have six rules. I want you to remember three, Veronica. In unity, there is strength. No Serpent is left for dead. A Serpent never betrays his own."

"That's a pronoun choice that tells you a lot about the official rulebook," said Veronica tartly.

Jughead glared at her until she rolled her eyes and repeated the three laws.

"For me," he told her shortly, "for right now, if you help rescue my friends, Veronica? Then you are a Serpent. An honorary one. And I will make sure we help you out, even if it makes us the worst, least practical kind of movie protagonists, okay? The kind that go back into the mummy's tomb, into the castle of Dracula."

Veronica smiled. She had a young, new smile, befitting a springtime princess. She slipped a mirror and a tube of lipstick out of her pocket and applied the lipstick, smacking her lips together once.

"Then, Jughead Jones, for this act and this act only, I will gladly play your foolish ingenue."

Jughead nodded, once. Then he pulled her out into the mist, towards the hidden rectory door. They had to slide between the dumpster and the back wall of the church to pry it open, something Veronica grimaced at but didn't complain about. Inside, they climbed carefully over broken furniture and rat droppings and Veronica's grimace became worse. Then they were cutting across an inner courtyard, clotted with birds' nests and mangy cats in corners, and ducking into the main church itself, where they dove under a pew.

It took Jughead several minutes to locate his friends. They'd been among the first dragged in, probably, because while Hiram's men were currently shoving Southsiders to the ground before the altar, this was only because they'd already packed the balcony. That was where Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs were, all cuffed to a pew. Their pew was conveniently near a stair, so that was a small mercy. But the stair was guarded by a man carrying a very large gun.

Hiram was pacing the altar.

"Run that by me again," he demanded.

"We do not technically have vagrancy laws," the Mayor was saying. "So these are not technically legal arrests. But this is technically a technicality! I can propose vagrancy laws at tonight's town hall meeting. Everyone will second them. Vagrancy laws are a wonderful idea."

"Make sure they're worded retroactively," Hermione snapped.

Jughead could feel himself recoiling, but next to him Veronica was cool.

"Alright, Jughead Jones," she said. "On three."

Then she counted down and was off, crouching between pews and, once, ducking quickly behind the baptismal font so Hiram's men wouldn't spot her. She found a statue of Mary that was quietly regarding a great many decaying candles, and pulled a dark shroud off of it. Then she ducked behind a rotting gold curtain near the altar, and Jughead blinked because he'd lost her and because he hadn't realized she could move so fast.

Then he saw her, daintily climbing statues of archangels, the shroud draped over her shoulder. He cursed, but he didn't need to. She made it to the top, so that she was silhouetted in the center of the great rose window. Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder and, inexplicably, arranged the shroud like a cape.

Or maybe it was explicable. Veronica Lodge was not the kind of girl Jughead usually wasted much time on, but she could certainly carry a cape.

"Hello there, Lodges," she shouted down, making the words very crisp.

Her parents reeled back. Their men trained guns on her until her mother shouted at them to stop that.

"Veronica!" Hiram said. "What are you-- how did you--"

For once, he seemed discomfited.

"Didn't think I would escape, daddy?" Veronica said.

"Where's Andre?" Hiram demanded.

"Subdued," Veronica said, with a grin that somehow made the word a death knell.

"That's preposterous," Hiram said. "He's trained in the martial arts."

"Do you know who would never do this?" the Mayor whispered loudly to one of Hiram's men. "My Josie."

As this was happening, and as all the guards were distracted by it, Jughead made for the stair. He moved a little more slowly than Veronica, because he was altogether a more paranoid creature, but still managed to make it. Then he climbed, trying to make as little noise as possible, until he reached the balcony. Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs were all cuffed to the same pew, right on the end. Toni saw him first.

"Juggie!" she whispered. "Quick! Get a pin from my hair, then pick the lock on my cuffs!"

He did find a pin in the soft, pink-tinged waves of her hair, but since he wasn't Betty Cooper he was pretty useless when it came to picking the lock.

"Not like that!" Sweet Pea hissed.

"I'm sorry," Jughead bit back. "Betty would be more useful here than me!"

"The perfect girl can pick a handcuff?" Fangs said. "Wow. Maybe she is perfect."

Then they all launched into instructing him. He didn't think he would succeed, because they were all whispering slightly different things and his hands were shaking, but after what felt like an eternity the handcuff snapped open. Toni grabbed the pin from him and swiftly did her other hand, then freed the boys.

"Now the others," Sweet Pea began, but Jughead cut him off.

There were too many others. And they wouldn't have their distraction much longer. Already, three of Hiram's men were scaling the wall of statues behind the altar, trying to get to Veronica.

"Don't be cute!" her mother was shouting. "This isn't a game, Veronica!"

"We have to go," Jughead told his friends. "They're going to take her out of here and back to the Pembrooke, I bet. We need a car."

The Serpents exchanged confused glances, but followed him down the stairs and back to the door that led into the courtyard. When they reached it, he heard a scream. He turned, full of dread, but Veronica was whole. Whole and living, just being manhandled down.

"Come on!" he said. The Serpents ran out, squeezing themselves out from behind the dumpster.

"Quick," Jughead said. "Like I said. A car. Hotwire one or something! We need to be able to follow if they take her somewhere, and to get away with her if they don't!"

They stared at him.

"Save Thumbelina the Tulip Princess?" Sweet Pea asked incredulously. "No way. It's the Southside we have to save. The Serpents!"

"She is one!" Jughead said. "She agreed to help us, so I deputized her!"

The Serpents were aghast.

"You what?" Sweet Pea said.

"There is no procedure for that in the official rulebook, snowflake," Toni said.

Fangs stomped off, he was so annoyed.

"Maybe the official rulebook is outdated," Jughead said. He remembered Veronica's dig. "And a little sexist!"

Toni made an offended face.

"Yeah. I know that," she said. "You don't know that. You don't get to say that."

But after this she shook her head, like she couldn't believe she was helping him, and said, "Fine. Sweet Pea, I say we rescue her like Jones wants."

"No!" Sweet Pea said.

"Fangs?" Toni said. She looked around. Fangs was gone. "Fangs?"

Fangs came stomping back.

"What?"

"Do we rescue the girl?"

"I just hotwired a Suburban, so I'm in," he said.

"You're outvoted, Sweet Pea," Toni said, with another headshake. "Okay, come on, everybody."

They trooped to Fangs' chosen Suburban, the one closest to the rear of the church. It was lurking almost by itself, conveniently away from the others. From here they could see Veronica being dragged out of the front door, very literally digging her heels in. The digging wasn't helping her much. She was a very small girl held by two very large men. Her mother was directing them to another Suburban. Although Veronica was clawing like a cornered cat, they forced her into that one.

Jughead watched as it pulled away, then opened the drivers' side door of theirs. Toni and Sweet Pea were already in the back. Fangs was in the front passenger side, seatbelt on.

"We follow that car," Jughead decided.

"Too obvious," Fangs advised. "As they go up Olin, you go up Main, then you'll catch them at the tracks."

In the rearview, Jughead could see Toni and Sweet Pea's horrified expressions.

"We are not--"

"Jones! Don't you dare take us to the Northside! Don't you dare!"

Sweet Pea actually tried to lunge for the wheel, which meant that they swerved, and lost time, and Veronica's suburban crossed onto Main and into the Northside before theirs did. Cursing, Jughead shoved Sweet Pea back and stepped on the gas, taking them over the tracks.

"Oh my god," Toni was saying. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

"You all know who your soulmates are!" Jughead said. "And I'm not going to let them hurt you!"

"I don't know who mine is," Fangs said serenely. "But I'm not gonna let him hurt me. A man who can look after himself has no fear."

They sped down Pine Street, then made a right on Maple Drive to catch the other Suburban. It had pulled up by a side alley entrance to the Pembrooke. Hermione Lodge's two goons dragged Veronica out like she was a sack of potatoes. She was beating one furiously on the back.

Jughead brought the car to a stop. One of the men saw it and approached them with his gun out.

"Jesus Christ," Sweet Pea muttered. "Toni? Fangs? On three."

On three, they all dove out of the car, going different ways. The closest Lodge goon shouted and tried to figure out where to aim, but by then Jughead was tumbling out, hands up.

"Don't shoot," he said shakily. "Don't."

The other goon put Veronica down in order to reach for his gun. She promptly bit him and snatched his pearl brooch off, right before Fangs barreled into him and knocked him over. Sweet Pea came behind another and, with relish, drove his knife into the back of a kneecap. His victim went down with a scream. As he fell, Jughead ripped a set of pearls off of him, too.

That left Hermione Lodge, backing into the wall of the alley.

"What do you want us to do with her, princess?" asked Toni, stepping out of the gloom by Hermione's Suburban.

"Veronica," Hermione said shakily. "Veronica, I just wanted to keep you safe."

"Safe," Veronica echoed, thinking for a moment. Then she smiled brightly and held up a finger. "You know what, mother? I know exactly where to put you."

Chapter Text

They tied up her mother and the hired thugs using the penthouse's fine silk curtains, then threw the lot of them in the safe. Then Jughead raided the Lodges’ behemoth refrigerator, Sweet Pea began pacing, Toni stared judgmentally at everything, and Fangs became interested in some papers on Hiram's desk. Veronica herself collapsed dramatically on her couch.

"What now?" Sweet Pea demanded.

"Now I rest for a few minutes, none-too-gentle giant," Veronica told him. "Do you know the day I've had?"

On a whim, she checked her phone.

She had twenty-one missed texts from Kevin. And one from Betty. The one from Betty said:

god I feel so bad, V. I just missed so many texts from Kevin.

Sighing, Veronica scrolled up and read her Kevin texts all in sequence. His story was slightly improbable, but so was everything that had just happened to her, so.

"Never mind," she told the Serpents. "Rest canceled. We have to go to Pop's."

The Serpents were not onboard with this plan.

"No, no, no," said Toni. "We're going back home, where we belong--"

Veronica didn't know how to kindly explain that the Lodges now obviously owned Toni’s home, so she just said, "Why not?"

"There's too much sun," Fangs said.

"It's too warm," said Toni.

"Everything's nice here!" Sweet Pea said angrily.

Veronica stared at them.

"That's a feature," she said slowly. "Not a bug."

"It's not for us, Heather McNamara. We're barred from it," Toni said. "The longer we stay here, the more we're just confronted with what we can't have."

"First of all, I am in every sense a Veronica, down to the name," Veronica said, waving her off, "and maybe you guys should learn to give this curse an overly-accessorized, snake-ring bedecked middle finger. I've seen your part of town and trust me. It can only benefit you to get out of it, even if just to take in some nice, wholesome retro-fifties burgers and shakes."

"Are you for real?" Toni said. "Do you seriously think we care to hear your Daisy Buchanan take on the Southside?"

Here Jughead, who’d been alternately brooding and stuffing his face at the dining table, spoke up.

"Toni, I want to go," he said. "And I want you guys to go too. To see it. Pop's was for years my home when I didn't have a home, the comforting chrome-topped shelter in every storm. And they shouldn't be able to block us from it. Pop's should be for everybody."

He subsided, but all the Serpents were still looking at him, brows furrowed. Veronica turned around on the couch to get a look at him, too.

"You really are the lovechild of Holden Caulfield and Ponyboy Curtis," she decided.

"You're Holly Golightly in reverse!" he retorted.

"Can we stop trading bad references and just get this whole burgers and milkshakes experience over with?" Sweet Pea said, head in his hands.

He walked to Pop's like invisible hands were frog-marching him there, very deliberately ignoring every pleasant park and adorable bandstand that they passed. Fangs took to collecting strange things -- blades of grass, small pebbles, even a wad of gum someone had stuck to a mailbox. Toni just peered at everything, eyes too large.

When they reached the Pop's parking lot, Cheryl Blossom's red convertible pulled in at the same time, honking at them.

"Jughead!" said one of the occupants, one Veronica didn't know. He was a fine-boned redhead, eerily like Cheryl, in a shirt that had once been expensive but was now practically its own crime scene.

"Jason?" Jughead said.

Jason climbed shakily out of the car.

"Thanks for telling them where I was," he said, serious about it.

"We rescued him!" Cheryl declared, swinging her long white legs over the edge of the car and bounding after her brother. She grabbed him by the arm and said, "Come on, Jay-Jay. You need sustenance after that horrific ordeal."

She dragged him into Pop's. That left Betty, Archie, and a tall, lovely blonde girl wearing a hideous smock, who looked enough like Betty that Veronica immediately guessed who she was.

“The babies need food too, Betty,” she said.

“The what?” Betty said.

But her sister was already headed for Pop’s. As she walked in, Kevin Keller walked out, looking for something.

“Buddy?” he was saying. “Shadow buddy?”

Then he caught sight of Jughead.

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“Oh?” Jughead said, a degree of prickly insult in his tone that Veronica honestly thought wasn’t merited, given that he’d previously said he wasn’t even friends with Kevin.

He’d said he wasn’t friends with Veronica, too, but what with all the prisoner-freeing and Hermione-trussing, Veronica had to assume they were now officially past that bad patch.

"The shadow's gone, right?" Archie cut in now. "Because Juggie's back."

He walked up to Jughead and looked at him very seriously.

"It's good to have you back, Jug," he said, with a sort of earnest simplicity that immediately charmed even Veronica, who hadn't thought she was all that into earnest simplicity. He added, "I like your shadow, but having you around is better, Jug. Having you around is the best, man. I'm not sure I ever told you that."

Jughead blinked, looking briefly thrown and very vulnerable.

"That's--that's really a welcome, Arch."

"A good welcome?" Archie asked.

"The best," Jughead said quickly.

"So...?" Archie said.

"We're not gonna hug!" Jughead said, but he said it like would in fact be delighted at the prospect of hugging.

Still, maybe it was better if he didn't. Sweet Pea was scowling, and Reggie Mantle had strode out of Pop's and begun to make dramatic vomiting sounds.

"Hey!" he said, midway through this. He pointed at Jughead. "What the hell, Keller? Are those pearls some kind of sick black magic to resurrect Jughead and Jason?"

"You have pearls?" Toni put in. "Oh god. You all have pearls."

All the Southsiders crowded together. Apparently they hadn't signed up to take on a bunch of Northsiders that could see them.

"With Reggie Mantle, it is literally pearls before swine," Veronica told them, trying to be comforting.

Reggie was proving her right. He'd barged up to Jughead, sneering. Now he poked Jughead in the shoulder and said, "What the hell is this? Some kind of sick Southside junkie cult you joined? The only people that would have you were the mutants and the monsters they have down there--"

Both Archie and Sweet Pea shoved him. Reggie might have been able to take on one, but not both. He went down, clutching the American flag he was wearing for some reason.

"What the hell, Andrews?" he roared.

"Leave Jughead alone. I'm serious," Archie said.

Sweet Pea just grinned and reached for his pocket.

"No!" said Veronica. Also Betty, Kevin, Archie, Jughead, and even Toni.

The last thing today needed was knives.

Their united insistence about this managed to stall Sweet Pea. So Veronica, not wanting the day to descend into any more testosterone-fueled madness than it already had, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into Pop's. She managed this, probably, because grabbing him left him so shocked and outraged that he didn't fight it. The Pop's bell was ringing before it even seemed to register for him what she'd done.

"Hello, son," Pop Tate said, coming up to him and smiling broadly. He had a strand of pearls wound around the center of his bowtie. "Welcome to my Chock'lit Shoppe. We've been expecting you."

In one corner, Cheryl Blossom was now holding court, clutching Jason and describing his heroic exploits in a manner that left Polly Cooper, sitting with a crowd of Vixens in the next booth over, stridently negating everything. Moose Mason and Chuck Clayton hovered nearby, deep in discussion of, for some reason, how incredibly powerful they both felt Kevin must be. Dilton Doiley sat alone, looking glum and sipping a butterscotch milkshake, but the Pussycats were all talking excitedly at the counter, spontaneously composing lyrics for some kind of song about rebirth and the seasons. The warmth of Pop's enveloped them all, and Veronica looked at Sweet Pea and saw the exact moment when he realized that it now had him, too.

"This place is great," he bit out.

"Thank you!" said Pop.

"Don't thank me! I hate it!"

Pop waggled a finger at him and smiled. "Aw, come on, son. I've got a chocolate fudge milkshake with your name on it, on the house. You just sit right here."

He somehow got Sweet Pea to perch uncomfortably on the edge of the nearest red vinyl booth, and then shuffled away to make the milkshake. Veronica slid in opposite him as the bell rang again and the others all came inside, even Fangs and Toni.

"Hello to you two as well!" Pop Tate told them. "One strawberry-vanilla and one mint chip coming up! And a coffee for you, Juggie!"

At the sound of Jughead's name, there was a ragged cheer.

Reggie came bounding in. "I called it. It's a sick resurrection thing!" he announced, before making a beeline for Chuck and Moose.

Dilton Doiley mumbled something that sounded like, "The bloodletting must come later."

Betty said what everyone was thinking.

"Kev," she asked, "What is happening?"

Kevin nodded. "Ah. Right. Well, Jughead's shadow wanted us to gather up summertime things. Vixens uniforms and Bulldog jerseys. We went for Pussycats instead of Vixens. It just felt right. Our school is definitely going to be closed for repairs, though. We're super lucky most people are wearing pants, Dilton is a sociopath, and I'm a shaman. Pop stole a bunch of jewelry from Cheryl. Oh, and all your pearls showed up, Veronica. We split them into three equal piles for the Northside, the Southside, and Thornhill. The Pussycats have the official tally. Everybody helped but Reggie."

As he spoke, he crowded them all into a booth -- Toni and Fangs he squeezed in next to Sweet Pea, Archie and Betty he squeezed in with Veronica, and Jughead he pulled a chair for on the end. He managed to do this using the same method Veronica had used on Sweet Pea before, by confusing them so much that they didn't fight his wishes. He pulled a chair next to Jughead when he was done.

"Okay," Betty said slowly. "So. If I'm parsing that right, we have totems for three of the seasons already?"

"Why do we need that?" Toni demanded.

"This is also my question!" Kevin said. "I had no idea why I was doing any of this!"

Betty, Archie, Jughead, and Veronica launched into overlapping explanations.

"Oh," Kevin said. He was sitting next to the Serpents and he spontaneously began to set a line of sugar packets down the middle of the table, cutting himself, Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs off from the others.

"Okay, so, this half of the table was the confused half," he said. "And now we're clear, and that's great. Let me stress that that's great. I'm really happy you explained, but in the future being briefed on the complex magical plans that impact every single corner of Riverdale would be great."

Sweet Pea slammed a fist down.

"Hard agree!" he said.

The other Serpents nodded at this too.

"We weren't holding information back deliberately--" Jughead began, but he was interrupted.

Josie McCoy and her Pussycats approached the table, crowding everyone's view with their incredible hair, glittering accessories, dewy makeup, and mile-long legs.

"Veronica," Josie said, bringing a hand up to flutter a welcome. Veronica fluttered back. She and Josie were kindred spirits, of a sort, both used to admiring silences whenever they walked into a room.

Josie leaned on the back of Kevin's chair.

"As the mayor's daughter, let me extend the official welcome wagon to the Northside," she said. She said this with a flick of her long lashes to the Northside half of the table. It managed to threaten bodily harm if anyone said anything about how her mother almost definitely did not want Southsiders welcomed. Then she continued. "We need to ask you for something, though. Pop thinks we're missing something we need. The autumn. Maybe you Southsiders can help with that?"

Kevin snapped his fingers. "I was just getting to that!" he said.

Now Pop came by to deliver three milkshakes and a coffee, and in his wake followed three Bulldogs. Kevin stood up to direct them. They arranged three piles on the counter. Someone had taken small placards of the kind Pop used to label the pies and cakes in his display freezer, and neatly written: for the Northside, for the Southside, and for Thornhill on them.

"Friends!" Kevin said, climbing on the counter for some reason. "There's more to the plan!"

He relayed what he'd just been told forty seconds before, but somehow made it sound like he had known it for years. Moose Mason nodded appreciatively. So did several others, including the Southside gang, until Kevin finished with, "and our new friends will now give us the autumn!"

He extended a hand to them, with a dramatic flourish. Many Riverdale High kids began to applaud.

Toni said, "uh, guys? Pow-wow. Now."

All of the Serpents, even Jughead, crowded out of the booth and into a huddle.

"What's happening?" Reggie demanded. He'd somehow maneuvered himself in the booth behind theirs, and now he poked his head between Archie's and Veronica's. "They have to help us, right? It's not like they have reason not to."

Archie, Betty, and Veronica just stared at him.

But soon the Serpents straightened, and Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs all shrugged off their jackets.

"This autumn enough for you?" Toni said, holding hers aloft. There was a cheer. Toni looked slightly confused by it, like she was wondering if someone had invited her on a prank gameshow. Pop collected her jacket and the others with a spirited little hop.

"I can feel it already, kids!" he said. "I can feel it!"

"Feel what, Pop?" Betty asked carefully.

"Here, Betty," Pop said. He thrust Toni's jacket at her. Toni made an injured noise, and so Pop thrust a pair of pussycat ears at her. When Josie looked ready to argue at that, Pop passed her a spider brooch, and to forestall Cheryl, he handed her a pearl.

"This is...new," Cheryl said. "It feels like Veronica."

"Thank you," Veronica said regally.

"Not a compliment," Cheryl said.

"Mine feels new too!" Betty said. "Or. No. Just different, in a sad, sad way. Like mist and wet leaves, and--"

"The Southside," Toni said, tapping the pussycat ears against her hand. "These feel like pep rallies and pop songs. They already have the summer in them."

Josie just shivered and put the spider brooch down.

"That definitely already has the winter," she said. "Because, sorry Cheryl, but I never want to touch it again."

Cheryl frowned. But Jughead said, "How? I thought we'd need a snake charmer to actually make these hold the seasons."

"Aw, Juggie, don't look a gift horse in the mouth," said Pop. "You kids did it! That's what matters."

"No, Pop," Jughead said. "We haven't done it yet. We still need to get the Southside pile to the Southside, the Thornhill pile to Thornhill, and find a safe place in the Northside to store its four seasons. Find that for every place."

"Jay-Jay and I will take Thornhill," Cheryl announced. "We know all its deepest secrets and darkest corners, isn't that right, Jay-Jay?"

Jason nodded, looking suddenly determined.

"The Pussycats are happy to take the Northside," Josie put in, just as Reggie shouted, "The Northside goes to the Bulldogs!" and all the Bulldogs hooted.

"Fine," Josie said, rolling her eyes. "We can do it together."

"That leaves the Southside for the Serpents," Toni said.

But oh no. They weren't going to write Veronica Lodge out as easily as that. She batted at Archie to get him and Betty to move, so she could get out of the booth.

"Veronica Lodge, as a resident Serpent deputy--"

The Serpents shot dark looks at Jughead, who said, "Okay, that was just the one time--"

"As a Serpent deputy," Veronica insisted. "I will be gracious enough to assist you."

"And, hey, as a Serpent friend, I want to come too," Archie said mulishly.

"Count me in," Kevin said, hopping down from the counter. "You know, I know no one formally invited me. But I'm in."

"Me too, Jug," Betty said. "I could have grown up on the Southside. You know, because of my mom."

The Southsiders looked ready to argue, but Jughead held up a hand, forestalling them.

"We don't strictly need assistance," he said deliberately. He made an open-toothed grimace, and looked off to one side, like he was thinking.

"But..." he said, after a few seconds. "We're happy to have it. Whether it's from a deputy, a friend, or--even just the daughter of Alice Cooper. Actually, knowing your mom? And you? Especially the daughter of Alice Cooper."

Veronica clapped her hands together.

"It's settled! The alliance will take the Southside."

But now Betty was biting her lip.

"Wait," she said slowly. "Jug, my mom. Your dad. They don't know we somehow trapped the seasons. They're still off trying to track down Penny."

-

She and FP gathered up some old film reels to serve as totems for the autumn, and then Alice kicked him out of her booth so she could get changed. There could be no taking on the Southside in a navy pussybow blouse and pink heels. This called for leather, for skintight denim.

It was some consolation that it all still fit. A little tight, judging by the way FP raked his dark eyes over her, but then she could have been wearing just about anything and he might have done that. FP had always unpredictable with his gaze, inconstant and too-greedy all at once.

He got away with it, Alice thought grimly, only because he was so handsome. Otherwise he would have received a comedown long ago.

"Lech," she snapped at him anyway.

"Just surprised at the change of look," he said mildly, holding up his hands like he was brokering peace between two drunks at the Wyrm. "Just surprised. Thought you kicked me out of the projection booth because you wanted to do those little doodles you used to go in for. Making fun of me and such."

"Watching you play king of the junkyard was fun as a teenager, FP. At around forty-seven, it gets a little old."

Maybe forty-seven. Alice had actually never been all that sure of her age, because of the whole time thing.

Now FP tilted his head a little, his gaze going sharp.

"And you're well out of the junkyard," he said, short about it. "Well. You can't take the junkyard out of the girl, Alice. Remember that."

Then, because he was FP and he was infuriating, he put his hands in his pockets and sauntered off into the mist. Alice hurried after him mostly because she was determined not to fall behind him. Bad enough that she was back. Worse, to be back and be led around by FP Jones.

She fell into step with him on Rose Lane. They did not talk. FP had always been good at being petulantly cool. Petulantly cool, recklessly erratic, bitterly angry, and -- above all -- overdramatic. Even his silence could be a dramatic thing, suddenly cool as the mist. Jughead, who Alice had always carefully disregarded because of his last name and the too-familiar fine bones of his face, had inherited that, she knew. A penchant for emotional theatrics so great that it could come through even in silence.

Alice could not wield silence for so long, or so horribly. Alice dealt in barbs and retorts. Alice hated the silent, superior side of FP. What did the king of the junkyard have to be superior about?

Just because I've come back here, she thought, and you're too stupid to see you've been trapped amid this misty trash. This does not make you better. This does not mean anything, except that one fallen star now gets to salute another.

She refused to take in the trailer park when they reached it. She knew what it looked like. She knew it wouldn't have changed. She knew, too, where her bike would be. Or thought she did.

"What the hell, FP?" she demanded, when he brought her to a completely different bike entirely.

"It went to Penny," he told her, short about it. "We don't have so much here that we can preserve everything of yours. The projection booth, that I made sure people let alone. Your funny drawings I took to the library, most of them anyway."

"I don't care," she said, in case he thought she cared.

"Yeah, I'd be shocked if you did," he countered.

But when she'd swung onto the new bike, he muttered, "Still suits you. All of it, you know."

It did not.

They pulled off for Fox Forest, because Penny was supposedly with the Ghoulies and so that was where she would be, and still Alice thought, it does not. She knew what FP Jones did not. She knew the Northside. The prim expectations, the false sunshiny cheer. The way there were rules and there was order, laws about how many children to have (no more than two, a reasonable number) and what to do on Fridays (go to the weekly pep rally at high school). What to care about (weight, appearance, your child's extracurriculars). Alice had become an entirely different person on the Northside, a cool and clockwork person, more than a match for the king of the junkyard.

He only knew the Southside girl, and that had been a different girl entirely. Wilder. More profane. Magic was merely profanity. It was looking at the world and deciding to hell with it, you would do what you wanted, nevermind the rules. This had suited the Southside. Alice had been born with only a little bit of it, but that had been enough to get her through.

Inside the forest, the gloom of the Southside truly reached completion. The trees were so tall they blocked out any of the faint grey light, or else rendered it a sepulchral blue-purple. Pale white flowers straggled up from the forest floor only to become coated in a thin layer of ice, the very thinnest layer, enough to kill them and leave them preserved. Here and there, streams cut through, little capillaries reaching out from the river and from Crystal Lake. They created pools clogged by red-brown leaves, tossed into frenzy by the wind that rippled through the trees.

When Alice and FP reached an eerie crop of white birches, growing perfectly equidistant from each other like fingers creeping out of the ground, they stopped.

"No Ghoulies about," FP muttered, pulling off his helmet. "That's bad. Bad, bad, bad. They really must be working with Penny, must be up to something."

He walked his bike between the birches. They grew in rows, perfectly straight and skinny. Alice thought he was still looking for Ghoulies, but then he said, "Remember when we were kids? Coming down here, looking for a fight? How stupid was that?"

"Very," Alice said icily. "But since I'm not here to waste my time on earth anymore, how about we scale back on the chitchat, FP?"

He fell silent.

For some reason, this prompted in Alice a completely ridiculous urge to talk, but instead she just followed him, biting her tongue.

He hadn't just been looking for a fight, she remembered. Yes, that had been part of it. That had always been part of it, with FP. But he'd also wanted to find his father. Serpent defectors were rare, but they did happen, and FP's father had been such a miserable creature from the start that it was surprising he hadn't joined the Ghoulies sooner. Tossing his son out, drinking himself half-to-death. Alice remembered FP's look of anguish when his father had defected, and how she'd snapped, you're not really surprised, are you?

But he had been.

Now FP stopped again, this time at a jagged body of water shaped to form a frightening, horned thing, with claws. He crouched by a golden willow that was slowly dying, trailing its death into the water. Swarms of gnats clung to patches of the water as well. Alice had always assumed the Ghoulies caused them somehow, trying to keep the Serpents out of their territory. FP frowned. Still no Ghoulies. Aside from the buzzing of the gnats, the silence was living and oppressive.

"So," Alice said. "Tell me, FP. Are you still tossing back six drinks a day, or has that number doubled?"

It had doubled, she bet. She couldn't understand why it didn't show more, why his hair still shone slick and his teeth remained white and even, why his eyes were still darkly alert.

"Now, unless you're gonna match me for drinks later, I don't see why that's your business, Alice," FP said.

"Maybe I'm worried I'll end up trapped here with you while your liver disintegrates," Alice said tartly.

She wouldn't even get to see Fred Andrews keel over on the Northside. And when Fred went, so too would go that horrible aw-shucks good humor, the too-lax parenting, all those squints and head nods that his fellow Northsiders mistook for wisdom. God, she would not miss some things about the Northside.

Other things she would. Betty. Polly. A clean, decent home. Light and warmth and air.

"It ain't so bad for the old, you know," FP said, like could read her thoughts.

"Liver damage?"

"Here."

"I could never get Hal to come."

"Honestly never understood why you even tried."

He started. In the stagnant water, she saw the exact moment when he realized what he'd said, the moment his reflection froze.

"I don't have to justify anything to you, FP!" she snapped.

"Never said you did. Even if he came down here throwing his weight around, Blossom boy exploring the land he thought he owned."

She'd thought it was dumb too, but it hadn't mattered. Hal had been new. Hal had been different. Hal had had excellent hair back then. One thing had led to another, and then--

FP brought a hand to his forehead and shook his head like he was trying to clear it.

"Look, I never judged you," he said. "Alright? You wanted to have your boy on the Northside. You taught me something with that. Taught me what I should do with Jug. I was grateful to you for that."

He was probably the only person who was. Chic couldn't be, because he didn't know about it, because Hal hadn't wanted him and she'd had to give him up. Then she'd spent her next few years on the Northside polishing herself up, making herself someone Hal wouldn't toss away like that. FP was right. You could cross the tracks, but the junkyard would come with you unless you worked to dispel it.

Now FP was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood.

"Look," he said again. "I know you hate it here. Half the time, I do too. And I wish I could pretend I didn't want to have you back--"

"Pretend," Alice said, ice-cold about it.

"You're coming back to do what's right, Alice!" FP said, whirling on her. His eyes were bright. Alice thought about those fallen stars, coming down and getting trapped here. She took a step back.

"Look, it's not for me," he said. "It's for Betty. It's for Jug. For all of them. When we set this town right, we make things better for all of them. If time's set right again, there wouldn't be a barrier. You could still see your girls."

That was exactly what she was counting on. Of course, for that to happen, Betty's foolhardy plan would have to work, and Alice wasn't entirely sure it would.

FP shook his head and moved away. They came to a thorny, root-clogged patch they couldn't get their bikes through. They had to leave them briefly, before heading to the main Ghoulie clearing.

They did not make it there. When they came close, they had to duck behind a huge oak tree.

Sheriff Keller and his men were battling the Ghoulies. A little too joyously, if you asked Alice. A little too crazily. Tasers and batons were being used with an abandon that absolutely defied the concept of criminal procedure.

"I cannot believe this is how they use our public funds!" she said.

"Jesus. We can't be here," was all FP said.

He pulled her away, fast, so fast that they'd no sooner left the lights of the police cars behind than they were tripping over an oversized root. FP went down, and Alice did too, with an oof. He managed to break her fall with his own, at least.

The part where he grabbed hold of her was perhaps unnecessary.

She could feel his heart beating. She could feel her heart beating. She'd assumed he would smell like he was drunk, but he only smelled like what you got when you mixed vanilla ice cream and orange juice and sprite -- a Pop Tate signature orange crush.

He was patting her back, her hair.

"Why are you doing that?" she hissed.

"I want to. You want me to stop?"

She did not. She was trading away her life anyway. Sure, it was a trade she might be able to dodge, mostly, if only they set the seasons right. But Alice had never liked mights and maybes -- she'd always liked sure things. That was why Hal instead of FP, but now, trapped with a looming might and maybe that she couldn't escape, she just thought, oh, to hell with it.

She kissed him. In addition to smelling like orange crush, he tasted like it, and it was a good taste on him. She kissed him again and it was like wandering into a dream, a cool and misty dream she'd forgotten about, like opening the door and inviting in the dusk.

Or maybe she'd never expelled that dusk properly. She had thought of this, often. They'd never made out in the Ghoulies' territory before, not when the Ghoulies hadn't been distracted like this. But still. This was always where her brain had made her remember FP. In blue-purple woods, not with gnats or bone-trees, but in the places where roots carved new paths and the flowers were trying to fight the chill. In odd, sedate little corners, ringed by danger and problems to solve.

She broke off. Leaned on him, breathing hard. His eyes were open, intent, she realized. Who kissed with their eyes open? Ludicrous.

"I hate your gaze," she told him, poking him hard in the chest with a finger.

He stared down where she'd poked, almost affronted. Then he said, "Yeah, well. You want me to stop looking, let me know. I've done a lot of stupid things for you. Not looking at your face when I get the chance -- you'd just have to add that to the list."

Clumsily, they stood, and she tried to avoid he had said that, and all the other things he'd said, and because he was FP he did not try to avoid the fact that she had kissed him. His hand was permanently glued to his mouth now, like he thought he could preserve the sensation of the kiss that way.

"Stop that!" she told him.

"Stop what?"

"Aw, come on old Ben Sanderson," came a horribly familiar voice. "If she listed every sleazy thing you should scale back on, we'd be here all day."

They'd returned to the thicket, and Penny Peabody was sitting on Alice's new bike. She had a leg pulled up on the seat and was balanced precariously, dipping her head here and there and nodding at the ignition switch, the hand clutch, the speedometer.

"Penny," FP said.

"Finally found your old partner in crime, huh?" Penny said, with a grin. "Welcome back, Becky Sharp."

"Hello, Penny," Alice told her. "Before you get snippy, let me just note that we had a bargain."

Penny looked enraged.

"A Northside life for Southside magic," she said, standing up now. "That was the bargain. You would be Mrs. Bennet, because I didn't want to be. There was no mention of trapping me down here in Centralia!"

Yes, well. Alice had omitted some things. But Penny was already rounding on FP.

"And you! You know what's funny? I asked you, for, as best I can calculate in this hellhole, the equivalent of thirty fucking years, FP, to undo what this woman did to me. I begged you. You promised you would help me in any way you could--"

"Help you on the Southside!" FP hissed. "The North isn't my jurisdiction, and she was on the North--"

"Says the man who crossed over there mighty easy when he needed to drop his precious little crib lizard somewhere," Penny said, rolling her eyes.

"You shut up about Jughead!" FP snarled.

Penny laughed.

"Penny," Alice said, trying to keep her voice even. "Let's just talk--"

"No," Penny said flatly. "You've had a good long while to come talk to me, and you haven't, so now I get to say my piece. Did you know that I figured out how to cut Serpents off from our union? From our abilities? Yeah. I did. The water. The ground. All the power the Southside gets from either of those came from the original snake charmer."

She paused. Grinned.

"But when Alice gave me her power," she continued, "all that ability became mine. And I can snatch it away from anybody I want. Deny them the power of the Serpents. Trap them in a dead spot. Maybe even leave them gasping for air at the bottom of Sweetwater River. So, honestly, fuck Jughead. I was thinking--"

"No," FP said, suddenly frantic.

"Jellybean. Or, ooh! Gladys. No, wait, she hates you. Better be Jellybean."

"Who's Jellybean?" Alice demanded. "Who's Gladys?"

Penny clapped her hands, laughing even harder now.

"Oh, right. He wouldn't have told you. Because he's a creep. Jellybean is the daughter, and Gladys is the wife."

"You have a wife and daughter?" Alice asked, aghast.

FP looked caught out.

"Don't worry," Penny said, rolling her eyes. "You can still feel secure in your Lady Chatterley thing. Gladys won't care. She hates him."

"What do you want?" FP asked her, his voice ragged.

"Hands up," Penny said briskly.

FP's hands shot up.

"You too, Alice," Penny said, making circles with her hands like she didn't have all day. "Or else I literally kill his little girl. Actually, you know what's great? If you don't put your hands up in response to this, it's like he just made out with a complete monster--"

Alice put her hands up.

"Damn," Penny said. "I could have sworn you were a complete monster. Well, unlike FP, I'm a person of my word, so Jellybean lives for now. As long as you do what I say."

"You can't even kill me," Alice hissed at her. "If you try, you'll die too."

"I know," Penny said, with a mild frown. "But it's okay. Because I can do whatever I want to FP."

Chapter Text

They didn't know where his father or Betty's mother had gone, only that Alice and FP were probably somewhere in Fox Forest looking for Penny. But Fox Forest was crawling with Ghoulies and cops, both natural enemies of the Serpents. And it offered nowhere to put the seasons that wouldn't immediately hand those over to the Ghoulies.

"So it just makes more sense if we focus on fixing time without my mom and your dad," Betty said, shaking her head. "If we end the curse now, fast, then our parents will see that they don't even need Penny."

Jughead didn't like this plan, didn't like the uncertain position it put his father in. But Betty was making a plain, heroic decision to put the good of the town before the good of Alice. And Toni was saying, "Juggie, if anybody can pull himself out of a scrape, it's your dad. Actually if anybody can make a scrape so bad you'd think he'd never get out, and then get out anyway, it's FP--"

Jughead couldn't argue with them. The eight-member alliance stuck to the original plan. It was simple and straightforward -- they'd take Reggie Mantle's jersey, Valerie Brown's pussycat ears, Toni's jacket, a sizable portion of the Lodge pearls, and Cheryl's red spider brooch down to the Sweetwater, and bury those things where only the Serpents could reach them.

"We don't need an honor guard for this, you know," Jughead told Archie in an undertone.

Archie had been sticking close to him ever since they'd reentered the Southside. He now put himself even closer, arm to arm.

"Too bad, man. You've got one."

Meanwhile, the girls and Kevin were swapping stories with the Serpents, everyone getting up to speed on everything everyone else had been doing or learning about, or simply hadn't reported to the whole group yet. Church escapes. Ghoulie parties. The spontaneous destruction of Riverdale High. The trussing of Hermione Lodge, the death of Clifford Blossom ("We had no idea Cheryl would do that," Archie put in), and the great water-union of the Serpents ("It's an altered state not unlike being at one with the universe," Fangs said. "So you guys survive by just getting high all the time?" Kevin said. "No," said Fangs. "Okay. Yes.")

Soon enough, Betty launched into the story of the curse, which Jughead had never heard before, and though he was enjoying walking with Archie and so only listening with one ear, one detail stood out.

"Those were the four families that caused all of this, that doomed you," Betty was saying. "Mine and Archie's, and the Lodges and the Joneses--"

Jughead stopped short.

"That can't be right," he said.

It couldn't be. The Joneses were Southside, its leaders and its kings, its would-be saviors. The Joneses wore the double-headed Serpent not because they'd ever allied with the North, but because every time they crossed North it was a sacrifice on their part, it was their lot to be the ugly walking reminders that the two towns were linked and the Southside would not be thrown away.

Betty looked at him sadly. Her hair had come tumbling out of her ponytail at some point, and the mist of the Southside made it eerily paler than it had ever been before, like she'd been dipped in the light of the moon.

"I'm sorry, Juggie," she said. "But it's true. Not just for you, but for me, Veronica, and Archie, too."

Archie's hand settled on his shoulder, as if to comfort him. But Jughead just looked at Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs. For a second, they all looked as betrayed as he felt, except that maybe they had more reason for betrayal.

But then Toni said, "Look, don't sweat it. My uncle became a Ghoulie, you know."

Fangs said, "I'm not all that friendly with my brother. One time he was building a landmine and he tricked me into touching a fuse and it blew off like half the skin on my left thumb. See?"

He held it up to show the others the proof. Most of the others looked away.

"I hate my grandma," Sweet Pea said. "Black-eyed--"

"Pea?" Kevin said.

"Susan," Sweet Pea growled.

By now they'd reached the water, which forestalled the question of why Sweet Pea hated his grandma so much. They were in a grove of rotting trees, in sight of the Sweetwater Bridge but too far for any of Hiram's men to spot them easily. Betty carefully picked her way to a vee in the trees to act as a lookout. Archie stared at the far-off, frightening specter of the halfway bridge. Veronica and Kevin examined the rushing black water.

"You guys are going in there?" Kevin asked weakly.

"Like I said," said Fangs, stretching he was about to swim a hundred meters instead of simply engage in floating communion. "It's a higher plane."

"Whatever you say, girl," Veronica said, sounding unconvinced.

It's junkie water, Kevin mouthed at her, looking like he wasn't sure whether to be delighted or appalled.

Jughead scowled at them, but his heart wasn't in the scowl. Maybe he didn't need them to understand about the water. That had always been the trouble with people like Kevin and Veronica, they belonged to a class he'd always known right away would not try to understand him. Archie and Betty were different -- they always tried. They saw people as commitments and projects, they shouldered relationships with a heroism that was at times baffling. Kevin and Veronica were more blithe. They allowed relationships to flower almost by accident. Jughead had always preferred those who treated him more seriously, whose actions always betrayed some wellspring of great emotion. It had seemed to him that, with their give-it-their-allness, Betty and Archie might conceivably love him no matter how strange, dark, or prickly he might prove to be. People like Kevin and Veronica offered no such assurances.

But there was a place for their more carefree support, too. There was a place for light, pull-no-punches summer friendships, as well as the more intense ones.

"Just don't any of you die when you're all blitzing out of your minds under there," Veronica advised him. "This one time in a club in Berlin I accidentally snorted something, that, well--" She held up a hand, looking suddenly worldly-wise. "Better not to say what happened next."

"Okay, now you have to tell," Kevin told her. "But later, when they're back." He gave Jughead a friendly pat on the elbow and waved at the Serpents. "Good luck in there. You guys, too."

Archie, who was an antsy, warm presence at Jughead's back, said, "Yeah. Good luck Toni, Fangs, Sweet Pea."

Then he turned to Jughead, looking serious.

"Dude. I had a thought about that bridge over there."

Jughead blinked at him. "About that bridge?"

"It's me and you, Jug," Archie said earnestly. "It's been me and you the whole time, trying to get to each other, trying to get each other, and sometimes we just fail. Because we're not like you and the Serpents, man--"

Here Sweet Pea gave an almost crazed grin.

"--it's not effortless. It's gotta be a bridge, that we build together, both of us, and that we keep building. I want us to keep building."

Jughead blinked again, and kept blinking for at least a few seconds.

"Arch," he said. "Jesus. When did you become so wise?"

"I was just looking at the bridge," Archie said simply. "And it was giving me these thoughts, like the words to a song--"

"Oh," Jughead said. He had missed a lot about Archie, like his warmth and his kindness, just as he had missed the warmth and safety of the Northside. But he hadn't missed Archie or the Northside's propensity to launch into impromptu music concerts.

"I really need to get in the water now," he told Archie hurriedly. The Serpents, as if they could sense his anxiety about the possibility of singing, also cut in and affirmed this.

But now Betty had hopped down from her place in the tree and was approaching the group.

"Kev, V, Archie," she said. "We have to go to their library, and maybe our library once they go under, okay? Because we need to do some research and figure out where going to handle Hiram Lodge owning this place. Fighting the curse won't fight that, and I think we need to fight that. I mean. It's wrong!"

The Serpents all stared at her.

"Hey," Toni said. "Thanks, Barbie."

"You're welcome, Toni," Betty said, like she was only just managing to bite back a snappy answer.

Then she held her arms out to Jughead.

"Juggie, hug?" she said.

Jughead almost tripped into it. Betty had always been intensely comforting to him, like sunshine and lemonade and new grass, but she had steel inside her too. He and Archie had spent so long being cheered and comforted by her that sometimes they forgot that. She was not just the nicest girl in Riverdale. She was the Northside's indignant, pushy heroine, too, the one who always tried to drag the rest into what was right, and that was the Betty Cooper that meant more to him than anything else.

"You're amazing," he told her. "I feel like I never told you that."

Too busy composing stories about her in his head. Maybe in another world, he'd snapped out of that sooner, but in this one he could only smile at how she jerked her head up with surprise, knocking him in the chin.

"Ow," he said.

"Jones," Sweet Pea said. Fangs had already slid into the water with the pearls. Toni was waiting at the edge of the river, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Okay," Jughead said. "I'm coming. See you all on the other side."

He followed after the Serpents.

-

If he could have shown the others what was in the water, he would have.

Archie, Betty, Kevin, and Veronica looked on it with suspicion. It looked like darkness to them. But in the darkness the Serpents were as safe as they were anywhere, linked together and strong.

It took time to settle back into it. That was the easy part, though. The warm, comforting part, losing himself to gain more.

It was harder to remember why he was there. Harder to fight to keep the part of himself that was holding onto Cheryl's spider brooch. When you could no longer sense your arms, it was hard to recall what on earth you had in them.

In unity, there is strength, intoned the Serpents.

Where the hell are we going to put this? Jughead asked.

Most of them ignored him. The three of them who knew what he meant did not. The overpowering murmur of the six laws continued, but it was bordered now by four puzzled, frustrated young minds, trying to break out of this communion long enough to feel the contours of the riverbed.

They needed to find a safe place for this. A place no one would disturb, a place to keep all the different sides of the town, all the different sides of the year.

A small, brash little force tugged him sideways. Jughead was startled, sending his surprise out to the other three like shockwaves.

The little force was not perturbed by this. It was the opposite of the dead spot. It was extremely alive, and extremely insistent in its individuality. Somehow it led them to a spot that felt carved-out of the rest, like a sadly piqued little hollow of solitary emotion.

Jughead had the impression of small hands. Then a waterlogged sixties loveseat hiding a rock lined pit in the floor of the river. The pit already contained, for some reason, a Pink Floyd lunchbox. The little force pointed them to the pit.

It was as good a place as any. That was where they left the seasons.

-

They came out by the quarry and discovered the sky splitting apart.

Sunshine warred with grey-blue night, and balmy breezes hit them only to be chased by a strong winter chill. There was the unmistakable heat and lightning of a summer storm, then four seconds of hail, then a rush of wet red leaves brought by autumn wind.

"You think they're duking it out to see who'll win?" Toni shouted at the others. "We're only supposed to get one season at a time, so one of the seasons has to win."

This made sense. They stumbled for the shelter of the caravan. The weather was too unpredictable to stay out in the open. Sweet Pea reached the caravan first, then helped Toni inside. Fangs caught up next. Jughead tripped over a wooden box and almost fell flat on his face, before getting back up again and scowling at the box.

It was more of a crate. The side said SPELLMAN AND SMITH AND TATE, WEIRD WONDERS TO FEED THE SOUL, and inside there were several soggy crown hats, paper hats of the kind that Penny had worn on the day of his initiation. Jughead touched his beanie briefly, the one Pop had given him all those years ago.

"Jones!" Fangs shouted.

Jughead ran for the caravan, forcing himself inside. It was a tight fit. The insides were rotting, the whole thing was tipped slightly onto its side. For a moment he huddled with the others.

Then he heard someone sobbing. It wasn't a purely sad sound. It was enraged, almost, loud and furious enough to be heard through the wind and thunder. It was coming from the other side of the caravan. Jughead peered through a hole between the caravan's wooden slats and saw Alice Cooper.

She was kneeling on the gravel. Penny Peabody was standing over her. Below them, there was an indistinct, crumpled form, so crumpled it took Jughead a few seconds to recognize it.

His dad. Bleeding out onto the garbage of the shore, clutching his chest. Alice was reeling back from him.

"I said cut off the tattoo!" Penny shouted, above the screaming maelstrom of the weather. It didn't seem to bother her. It energized her. She looked powerful and shameless, her grin wider than ever before.

"You'll kill him!" Alice snapped at her.

"No! You'll kill him. And since I can't kill you, and to swap us back would give you my powers, here's what we're going to do. You're going to carve up the Nightrider here. He'll definitely be dead by the time you drag him back to the Northside. And you'll be covered in his blood, holding the knife that killed him, which sure will put you in a pickle."

She paused and tapped her temple once, a mirthful gleam in her eye.

"I have had a long, long time to think of how to get back what's mine. How to clear you out to prison, and keep my powers. And, hey! To take out FP too."

FP's body shuddered. Jughead saw red.

FP wasn't perfect. FP wasn't even halfway good. But Jughead loved him, loved him with a ferocity that almost hurt. His father was battered and twisted, but he tried, and Jughead had to believe that even someone like FP deserved to exist, to be loved back. Because wasn't that what made him think that he deserved the same? It was the foolish hope that no matter how dark an outsider you were, you could matter to somebody, and your love for them could matter too.

And now all he could think of was that his father had never even taken him motorcycle riding. That they'd been meaning to do that for years, that FP had promised, and now he never would. He'd never get the chance to. He'd never even get the chance to let Jughead down. That shouldn't be painful, but it was.

"Juggie?" Toni whispered. The other Serpents had by now also taken in the scene with looks of horror.

"Don't follow me," Jughead bit out. "Don't stop me. Don't you dare stop me. If any of you stop me, I'll never forgive you."

"Jones, no," Fangs began, but Jughead pushed him off, and Sweet Pea too, and forced his way out of the caravan. He stumbled around it, to the clearing where Penny, Alice, and his father were. Penny saw him first.

"Oh, fuck yes," she said, looking delighted. "I was just thinking what a shame it would be if you got away."

"Jughead," his father said, trying to push himself up on his elbows. His hair was matted with blood for some reason. His eyes were wild. "Jughead, get away--"

"He can't. I've spotted him. Catch up," Penny said. "Hey, we can play Sophie's choice now! Kill him or kill your daughter. You'd just pick him, though. God, you're disgusting."

"Pot and kettle," Alice hissed at her, but the word daughter entered Jughead's brain and danced there for a moment. Then he shook his head, clearing it out. There was no time for that. He had to get Penny's attention.

"I don't have a shadow," he told her loudly.

"And?" Penny said.

"No shadow," Jughead repeated. "No match. No soulmate. It's like the rules apply to everybody else, but not me. I'm a loophole. You know what that means?"

"No one will care if you die, because your father will be long gone by then, and he's the only one who gives a shit about you?" Penny said, like she was speaking to a particularly stupid child.

"No," Jughead told her. He pulled off his hat and shoved it in his pocket. "It means I can have no reservations about hurting anybody, because nobody is my match. The Northside snake charmer never gave me one, no matter how many times he saw I wanted one."

Then he lunged for her. She subdued him easily, and with far more brutality than was necessary, shoving him down into the gravel and stomping on his cheekbone with the heel of her boot. Pain bloomed. Alice tried to stop her, and Penny shoved her off too.

"Don't," Penny said dangerously. "You do what I want, remember? So why don't you do what you do best, and--"

No, Jughead thought vainly, through the pain. Don't focus on her. Focus on me. Focus on what I just told you.

Penny stopped. Jughead was curled up on the gravel, hurting, but he felt her boots come to a stop in front of his head. He flinched almost on instinct.

But then Penny was saying, "Wait a second. Loophole? Holy shit, FP did something right for once. You're not bound to any Northsider. And you're Southside, but you can leave this place."

"Get away from him, Penny," his dad choked out. "Get away--"

"Don't think I will," Penny said, grabbing Jughead viciously by the arm and hauling him up.

"Must be nice to be bound to no one," she said. "If Alice could trade for me, then I could trade for you. Then I'd be free. So you're going to take me to this Northside snake charmer. You come too, Alice. I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second. FP can stay here and die, though."

Then she was pulling Jughead away.

-

The Pop's bell rang.

Pop Tate was alone inside, mopping his floor and whistling. Outside, the seasons continued to do battle and all the sprightly summer houses of Riverdale had acquired a flimsy look, like they had been unprepared for a battle of the seasons. But the Chock'lit Shoppe stayed cool and chrome. In the new patches of twilight autumn darkness, it took on a defiant neon gleam.

Penny shoved Jughead into a booth. Alice she directed to another.

"Hi, old man," she said to Pop. "Remember me? I used to knock back malts here, but then this one--" she cocked a finger at Alice, "--had to go and rip me from the only home I'd ever known, so."

"Penny," Pop said. He didn't seem surprised to see her. "Peanut butter and banana milkshake, hint of cinnamon."

Penny clapped her hands.

"You do remember! Nice. Now, Jughead over here told me something interesting about you -- no. Don't look at him."

Pop of course looked.

"Juggie!" he said, horrified by the blood coming out of Jughead's nose, his ruined face, his swollen eye.

Penny pulled the old man back by a shoulder and effortlessly backhanded him.

"I said don't look! And cool it with the folksy sweetness. I'm not in the mood. I know you're a snake charmer."

"Now hang on," Pop mumbled. "I don't remember everything. It's been a long time, Penny--"

Penny snarled, and pulled her hand back, and Jughead couldn't bear it.

"You have to remember!" he told Pop desperately. "You have to. Weird wonders to feed the soul, right? You're still feeding our souls, Pop. You just do it more literally now."

Penny nodded, pleased that she'd gotten Jughead to argue for her.

"I want to switch with the kid," she said. "I want out of this hellhole. And I want it without tricks."

"I can't do that," Pop said weakly.

Penny hit him again, almost bowling him over. As Alice rushed to him, protesting, Penny stood in the warm neon light like she was just happy to be taking it in and said, "Shut up," almost affectionately.

"I remember," Pop said. Alice was holding him up now. "We came to this town. I was working with the carnival then. When they left, I stayed. I liked this little place. and we'd done something bad. We'd hurt the people here. I know some of them wanted it, but others didn't, and it wasn't fair, so I stayed and opened a space where any could come, where no one would be judged."

"Do you want me to hit you again?" Penny said. "Or kill Jughead? Will that get you to stop irritating me?"

She stood up and strode to Jughead's booth, then casually pulled out her knife and brought it to his throat. Jughead stayed very still, heart racing, hate opening up inside him like a flower.

"Switch us!" Penny demanded again.

"Penny," Pop said faintly. "You already switched with somebody, Penny. You're not where you should be in the first place. So I can't switch you with that boy. I'd have to put you back where you came from first."

"Unless you want his throat slit, old man, I'd go ahead and do that then," Penny said languidly. "But no giving my powers back to Alice, you hear? Well? I'm waiting."

Pop shakily righted himself. Jughead hated Penny even harder, hated her even more now than he had by the lake, and that was saying something. The hate was a boundless thing, devouring him, limitless as the Serpents' communion.

"I'll take that bargain," Pop was saying. He steadied himself on his mop, and directed Alice to sit across from Jughead and Penny. Penny grinned.

There was a ringing, like the bell on the door, only no one came in or left. After that there was no change. Penny was left staring at her hands.

"I don't feel any different, except I don't have my power!" she snapped.

"I don't have it either," Alice countered. "If I did, you'd be a dead snake, Penny."

"I switched you," Pop said anxiously, tugging at his cap. "I switched you, and I kept those powers from Alice, like you asked. Only thing is, you thought you'd feel all different now that you're a Northsider again. But there isn't much difference between North and South, when you get down to things."

"Enough," Penny said, holding up a hand. "Now me and the boy."

Pop nodded.

"Right," he said. "Well. There's only one way to make you something like Jughead. I would have to--"

"I swear to god I will paint this diner with his blood if you don't just do it," Penny snapped. Her knife dug into Jughead's throat.

Pop shook his head, looking worried. The bell rang again. This time Jughead felt something shift, and for half a second he could not determine what.

Then he looked down at the table. As Penny pulled her knife back, looking thrilled by something, Jughead Jones, for the first time, cast a shadow in the neon lights of Pop's.

The shadow made a thumbs-up at him. Jughead blinked at it, dazed.

Penny, meanwhile, had her hands on her knees and was laughing.

"Oh god," she said. "Now I feel it! Now I do. I'm not tied to anything in this miserable place. I'm alone, and I'm free. It feels like I can do anything."

Jughead felt the same way. He launched himself at her. She'd hurt his father, and she'd threatened to hurt his father's daughter, and she'd hurt Pop. He felt, for the first time, completely blank of emotion. How strange, that hate could wipe you clean like this. He tackled Penny and her knife slipped out of her hands, and on instinct he reached for it. It felt right in his fingers, even if Alice Cooper was snapping at him, calling him a brute.

"Juggie," came Pop's voice. "No. Juggie, please don't!"

Jughead pulled back. He pulled back because of Pop, not because of Penny. But this meant that Penny could shove him off of her and retake the knife.

"Oh, I am so tired of you," she said, rolling her eyes and advancing on him.

The Pop's bell rang.

This time it was the door. Toni and Betty were the first of his friends inside. Toni launched herself at Penny without compunction. Betty went for a large silver tray on the counter, and then brought it down on Penny's head with so much force that Penny fell over and Betty fell over too, on top of Toni.

"Betty!" Alice Cooper said, like Betty had just said something rude to a dinner guest.

"I'm okay, mom," came Betty's muffled voice.

"You're more than okay. You're a good one to have in a pinch, Sweet Valley High," said Toni, from under her. "Hey. How come I can touch you?"

Now Archie, Kevin, and Veronica were crowding around all of them.

"Sweet Pea and Fangs stayed with your dad, and Toni came to get us," Archie said. Jughead nodded weakly. That took care of his first worry. But Toni's question was still playing on his mind. He looked up at Pop.

"She wanted to be like you," Pop said simply. "Well, to do that, I had to undo the whole mess I made, trying to fix that bargain. I thought by linking the Southsiders to the Northsiders, I'd keep this town from forgetting it was more than just the Northside. But I sure did rat it up. And it seems like we don't need those bonds anymore, now that you kids have fixed things. Now you can start building real bonds with eachother."

He gestured at the windows with his broom handle. Outside, it was raining softly, the sky a lovely settled violet, too cloudy to be perfect summer.

Betty stood up, and helped Toni up too. Then she reached for her phone.

"Hi, this is Betty Cooper. I'm at Pop's. Oh, hi, Deputy Hartheller. Oh, they didn't take you? Oh, they get to have all the fun? That is sad. Yes. Listen, we have someone you can arrest..."

-

As soon as the Bulldogs had buried Moose's jersey, Josie's ears, the black spider brooch, the pearls, and Fangs Fogarty's jacket, Dilton tried to dig them all up again. He explained that this was experimentation at its finest, meant to cause a total war of the seasons which would leave only the strong behind. This explanation did not keep Reggie from violently tackling him.

"You're crazy, Doiley!" Reggie said.

But then the sky exploded. Dilton started laughing. It began to rain on the Bulldogs and snow on the Pussycats. There was a lot of shrieking. In all the commotion, Melody Valentine dove for the bundle Dilton had tugged out of the soil, but when she touched it, she said, it didn't feel like the seasons anymore.

"What do you mean?" shouted Valerie.

"I think the seasons got out!" Melody said, pointing at the turbulent sky.

That did seem to be the case. Everyone ran for the safety of the school, except for Dilton, who stayed on the field and laughed and laughed.

It was then that the Mayor's towncar pulled up. She stumbled out in a daze.

"Josie?" she shrieked. "Josie, are you safe?"

She found Josie just inside the school, at the front of almost all her classmates.

"Come with me right now," snapped the Mayor. "Someone's broken the sky! Who did this? Was it you, Mantle? Who was it? Was it the Southsiders?"

Josie trembled slightly, but squared her shoulders.

"Uh," she said. "It was me?"

-

In Thornhill, Hal Cooper and Penelope Blossom also saw the seasons change. Hal had forced his way in to to ask about the sale of the Southside. But now lightning cracked just behind the window he was sitting in front of, and he jumped so violently that he upended his teacup. It fell to the floor and cracked.

"Clod," said Penelope Blossom coldly.

Nana Rose, in the corner, began to laugh and laugh about something.

"Hang on," Hal said. "Are those flowers growing outside your window?"

"Impossible," said Penelope. Flowers had not ever grown in Thornhill, not at any point that she could recall. But when she stood to look, there were the flowers. And summer shooting stars, and a tree going autumn-red. It was the tree in the cemetery. There, Jason and Cheryl were silhouetted. They appeared to be piling something high with dirt.

Penelope stormed out to them.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "What have you done?"

She grabbed Cheryl by the hair. Cheryl wailed. Only then did Penelope realize her son was standing in front of her.

"Oh," she said. Faint tears reached her eyes, but only faint ones. Penelope, like almost everyone else in Thornhill, was nearly frozen-through where it counted.

Jason stepped back.

"You let him do all the wickedness he did, mother," he said. He said it dispassionately, because he was a Blossom. He added, "You know, I think you deserved all this cold."

Penelope reeled back. Cheryl was still wailing in the dirt, but Penelope paid her no mind.

"Jason," she said, as her faint tears became almost real tears. "How can you say that? I love you!"

Jason walked away, back towards the house. Penelope followed after him, calling his name.

Polly Cooper detached herself from the autumn tree and kneeled in front of Cheryl, grabbing her wrists so she wouldn't slam them on the ground.

"Cheryl?" she said. "I know things look bad right now. I know sometimes you love your family, and it doesn't matter, because they're still terrible."

"Leave me alone!" Cheryl shrieked.

"Nope," Polly said brightly. "Because my babies are gonna need at least one other person besides me and Betty who isn't completely terrible, Cheryl. Are you on board with that?"

Cheryl stared at her.

Slowly, she nodded.

Hal Cooper now came bounding up, saying, "Polly? How the hell did you get out of the Sisters of Quiet Mercy?"

"Shut up, Blossom," Polly said, rolling her eyes.

Chapter Text

The entire town, from Thornhill to the Northside to the Southside, eventually settled into a brisk early spring.

The Lodges recouped most of their pearls (albeit not the ones at the bottom of Sweetwater River), but the damage was done. The pearls only had monetary value now, though that monetary value remained considerable.

The true pearl of the Lodges, anyway, was their daughter. Even if she sometimes irritated the new butler.

"He's not trained in the martial arts," she told her parents on his first day of work, for absolutely no reason that the butler could discern.

Thank god he was only a part-time butler. He needed money. Everyone needed money where he was from -- he was a Southsider. Veronica had hired him for this exact reason. The Southside was now a thorn in her parents' side, and she said that she wanted Hiram and Hermione to have at least a part-time reminder of the place, hanging about the penthouse and forgetting to wipe its boots before it stepped on the million-dollar carpets.

"Your choices, as ever, are a mounting series of betrayals on this family," Veronica's father told her now. "Do you really think you will get away with challenging our purchase of the Southside, mija?"

Veronica smiled. Her teeth were as blindingly white and dainty as her delicate single-strand necklace, and this was a smile with a lot of teeth. It took everything in the new butler not to grin back. He liked smiles like that, smiles that were preludes to a good fight.

"As you know, daddy, and as I know because I spent a lot of time studying the laws of this state, the Southsiders only needed to squat on unused land for fifty years to obtain title for it. Seventy-seven years passed for the world outside of this town, while they were occupying their homes. So it really has nothing to do with me, daddy. It was plain old facts that convinced both that judge and the state assembly that the Southside really belongs to its people.."

She fingered her necklace and sighed happily.

"At least we got our money from the sale back from the Blossoms," muttered her mother. "Another mimosa, Smithers Two?"

Veronica scowled. It was an especially good scowl, thought the butler. Looking at it was like discovering an improbable black flower.

"Don't call him that!" Veronica told her mother. "And you shouldn't be drinking -- do not give her any more mimosas. Her parole officer is coming today. Daddy's is coming on Tuesday. Try to be nice to him, both of you."

Then both she and the butler none-too-subtly craned their heads to look under the table, at Hiram and Hermione's court-ordered anklets. The Lodges had spent years giving their daughter jewelry. And now, using certain irregularities one Fangs Fogarty had discovered in their most recent contracts, Veronica had contrived to return the favor.

"You've ruined this family!" snapped her mother.

Probably just because the old bag was missing that drink, thought the butler darkly. He raised an eyebrow at Veronica and slipped a hand into his pocket.

You want me to...? he mouthed.

She shook her head.

"Mother, you and daddy spent sixteen years committing financial crimes and using my name to do them, so actually I think I'm saving this family," she said simply.

Then, with a grin at the butler, "A mimosa for me, please. And you know what? Feel free to take one for yourself."

This was too much for her father.

"You cannot give our best champagne to Smithers Two!" he said, smacking his hand on the table.

Okay, that was just annoying.

Not only did the butler take a mimosa and pass one to Veronica, but he also speared a chocolate croissant with his switchblade and brought it to his mouth.

"Yo," he said menacingly, chewing with his mouth open just to piss them off. "It's not Smithers Two. It's Sweet Pea."

The Lodges looked appalled.

-

FP Jones, still standing because he was the kind of snake that grew new heads when you cut one off, was in the front row at the court hearing. Right behind the prosecutor's desk.

His partner in crime slid in next to him. His son was on his other side. Penny rolled her eyes at the lot of them. Alice had also brought along two blonde porcelain dolls who Penny was sure she could have made work for her somehow, had she known about them, and that just heaped insult on injury.

Jason Blossom and his sister closed out the row. Penny focused on Jason, locking eyes with him and not blinking while the judge spoke, while her lawyer spoke. While the prosecutor spoke. She didn't have her magic, but some things, like intimidation, she was just a natural at.

Jason was a shaking wreck by the time he was called to the stand. He stood, dropped his coat, and cursed loudly. The judge looked at him severely.

"Jason!" said one of the dolls, the one with the ponytail. She nudged the other one, who crooked a finger at Jason. Jason shot the judge an apologetic look and leaned over, so that the dolls could whisper something in his ear.

"Mr. Blossom," said the judge. "You have been called to the stand!"

Jason straightened. He didn't look at Penny as he passed her. Penny blinked. No, no that was not how this should go. She should be able to charm this worthless, spoiled little jock. That was who she was.

But Jason was taking his cues now from the dolls. The one with the ponytail dipped her chin almost imperceptibly, and Penny knew.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cause a scene. She wanted that girl to look at her, dammit.

Ponytail doll did not.

"Can you identify who kidnapped you?" said the prosecutor.

"Yes. I can. It's Penny Peabody. She's sitting right there," Jason said, pointing right at Penny but still looking at the doll.

"What else did Penny Peabody do to you?"

"Assaulted me, held me hostage, nearly drowned me, and ordered her gang, the Ghoulies, to put me to death," Jason said, like he was reading off a list he had memorized. "I also suspect they killed my father on her orders."

Penny began to laugh. She laughed and laughed and laughed, and then she rounded on the ponytail doll. Several officers had to hold her back.

"He gave it to you!" she said. "To you! Well, better you than your harpy housewife of a mother have it! You don't know what you're doing, helping her and FP--"

"Ms. Peabody!" said the judge, pounding his gavel, but Penny ignored him.

"She'll turn you into a nag, an Elm Street housewife!" Penny spat. "You're a little girl with big dreams. You should be helping me, I could turn you into a woman with vision--"

But Alice's daughter turned her face away, and FP now moved to put himself between them.

"You!" Penny shrieked. "You roll in shit and it never sticks to you, FP! Well, I'll make it stick! I'll make it stick some day!"

She was still screaming when they pulled her away.

-

Little by little, the news spread through Sweetwater River and Crystal Lake that it was safe to leave the water.

For Joaquin, who was pleasantly chanting along with all the other Serpents, the periodic exclamations of You guys have to come see this! and We can go to the Northside now! We can go anywhere! I'm gonna go to Florida! were at first merely an annoyance, detracting him from the pleasant business of losing himself to the greater mind of the gang. But then he actually listened to them.

He pulled himself out on the Northside. Actually on the Northside. Where it was warm, and the grass by the river was soft and green. Joaquin decided to lie down on it and just enjoy the day, supposedly now his for the taking.

He was promptly tackled by a man in a khaki shirt.

"Dad!" someone was screaming. "Dad, we talked about this! You can't tackle people if there are no signs telling them to keep off the grass!"

Khaki shirt straightened, pulling off of him. Joaquin stared up at all the sunshine, shocked and slightly hurt. There were spots dancing in front of his eyes. He couldn't tell if they were from being hit or from looking at the sun this long.

Someone helped him up. Two someones. One was very large. The other was his soulmate. Joaquin stared at him, briefly frightened.

"Hey!" said his soulmate, throwing his hands up. "Hey, Joaquin! It's okay. It's all over now. We don't have a weird bond that means touching me makes you go crazy, I promise--"

He was classically handsome, and had an excellent mouth. Joaquin had been too busy going crazy to notice that before. He pulled him in by his shirt collar and kissed him.

"--whoa!" said his soulmate, pulling back frantically.

"Kevin, what the hell?" said khaki shirt.

Now the big one said, "I'll apprehend him, Sheriff Keller!" which was a swift turnaround, and meant Joaquin was tackled a second time. Joaquin hit the grass with a thud.

"You don't know how many crimes this lowlife has committed," Sheriff Keller was saying.

"That is profiling," Kevin replied, sounding extremely long-suffering about it. "The examiner from state law enforcement said you guys could get real, actual badges, if you tried to stop doing stuff like that."

"I didn't commit so many crimes," Joaquin spoke up, making the big guy scoff.

But it was true. He'd only ever committed a few. Dog fraud. Fake dating. Periodically blowing up small sections of the rail line with Fangs Fogarty, so that they could raid the 11:33 to Greendale for novels, celebrity magazines, and new movies. The Southside had to get its pop culture fix somehow, and Joaquin had always been one of FP's go-to guys for the weird stuff.

"How about you tell me the crimes you did commit?" said the sheriff now, leaning over with his hands on his knees, to better give Joaquin the evil eye.

"Dad!" Kevin said.

Joaquin thought about it.

"Um. No."

Kevin hauled him up again.

"Thanks."

"This my dad, and this is Moose, and both of them are going to be polite to you," Kevin said, in the face of two expressions that said they were going to be nothing of the sort.

Joauqin wasn't bothered by that. Birds were singing, flowers were growing near his boots, and there was absolutely no mist anywhere. He'd been downright tired of all the mist.

"It's not cold, man," he said happily. "That's great."

"Who even is this guy?" Moose demanded.

"Oh, I'm his soulmate, who are you?" Joaquin asked.

"I'm his Moose!" Moose said, sounding dangerous about it.

"Hang on, you're his what now and you're his what now?" said the Sheriff, looking from one to the other before rounding on Kevin with a worried expression.

"Don't look at me," Kevin said, shrugging. "Just five minutes ago I was soulmateless and Mooseless."

-

For seventy-seven years Riverdale had appeared only in publications catered towards tourists, and had dodged the census entirely. So state and federal agencies only became aware of the town on one rainy spring morning, when it suddenly started showing up in official records.

(Greendale was still missing. Alice checked.)

G-men descended on the town, attempting to correct their seven decades of zero legal oversight, and to collect back taxes. The tax issue swiftly cleared out most of the Northside's boundless coffers, but the town retained some funds. A surprisingly kind judge ruled that technically Riverdale could not be harshly penalized for the fact that the rest of the country had mysteriously forgotten about it. Still, this whole process revealed that no one in Riverdale, not the Mayor or the town aldermen or the lawyers or the policemen, actually knew what the laws of the United States or the broader state were, and in fact for several years the town had been pretending to be its own state entirely.

License plates were revoked. So were most people's professional licenses. Fred Andrews received several fines for employing minors to work construction, most of which were promptly struck when one of the state inspectors decided he was a very nice man. Alice spent an entire afternoon annoyed about that. She was the one who had ratted him out for employing minors, in the Examiner, the paper she'd started after the state closed down the Register for not complying with libel laws.

In all the hubbub, very few new laws were passed by Town Hall, but many were struck from the books. The ones about prioritizing football and cheerleading, the ones mandating weekly pep rallies. The ones about only imbibing ice cream flavors that said something about your personality. Definitely all the ones about concerts at the hospital and biweekly school talent shows -- all the singing was starting to wear on people, although the Pussycats were still permitted to remain the official voices of the Riverdale post office.

Another law that toppled right away was the law prohibiting divorces within town limits. The Elm Street Women's Book Club fought to take that one down. They were tired of everyone having to go to the city to obtain a divorce. When the law was struck, they cheered and had drinks over a copy of Eat, Pray, Love. Alice herself led them to the Town Hall the next day.

She was first in line to file her papers.

"Ooooh, Alice, why are you here? Hard times with Hal?" said Trudy Muggs, a local widowed busybody who had come to gawk.

"Yes, I didn't have the luck to have mine keel over, Trudy," Alice said, keeping her tone pleasant. Trudy had lost her husband before the fall of the veil and had suffered very little emotion over it, so the barb didn't land quite the way Alice wanted it to.

Then came the voice of Mary Andrews, probably also here to gawk. "Alice! Alice!"

Alice ignored her in favor of double-checking that everything was correct before she submitted it to the clerk.

"Alice!" Mary said again. "Hey, Alice!"

"What?" Alice said, finally whirling around and locating her.

"Me too!" said Mary, smiling broadly.

She was ninth or tenth in a very long line.

-

Because much of Riverdale High had been destroyed (the children, when asked, all unanimously reported that a ghost had done it), every Northside child went on emergency spring break. And every Southside child continued on permanent we-have-never-been-educated-to-begin-with break.

So the question of how the Mayor was planning to allocate the next fiscal year's budget became a big one for the children, particularly since the Mayor's office had never had to worry about it before, since before the town had just poured all its funds into concerts and never once considered that the funds might run out. Archie Andrews, Betty Cooper, Veronica Lodge, Kevin Keller, Dilton Doiley, Ethel Muggs, and Melody Valentine all showed up at the mayoral press conference. So did Jughead Jones, Fangs Fogarty, Sweet Pea, and Toni Topaz. Josie McCoy was there too, but mostly because her mother wanted to both display her and punish her.

"As we all know," the Mayor told everyone. "Tragedy struck my poor, sweet Josie, and also several other Northside children, in the form of a mass ghost hallucination."

Fangs coughed an obscenity into his hand on principle. The Mayor picked him out of the crowd and narrowed her eyes at him. Fangs stared unrepentantly back, patting the messenger bag at his side with his other hand.

"This led to a small hiccup at our beloved old Riverdale High, to the tune of seventy-thousand-dollar repairs. Of course we have already hired a construction crew -- no, not Fred's, Mr. Rehnquist, Fred was using minors -- and earmarked those funds, so never fear. Riverdale High will be back in two weeks!"

Much of the room clapped at this. The Southside teens did not, nor did many of the other teenagers.

"What about Southside High?" Toni said loudly. "When do we get to go to school?"

The Mayor's smile faltered.

"Now, we do have to, technically, consider the Southside or risk being penalized by the governor's office and potentially also--" here she made air quotes "--'civil rights groups.' So, to please these whack-jobs, we have also earmarked seventy thousand dollars for the Southside."

"Boooo!" Fangs said. "Booo!"

His friends did the same. In fact, their meager Southside presence was the only thing keeping Fangs from stomping out and engaging in a more uncivil kind of disobedience. Again, he thought of his messenger bag.

"Oh, please!" the Mayor said, rolling her eyes and stamping her foot. "It's equal! You're getting the same amount as the Northside."

"We need more!" Jughead said now. "We don't have a school, or a properly-working sewage system, or mailboxes, or--"

"Oh, now you're a Southsider," the Mayor said, rolling her eyes. "After years of living in our midst, you stab us in the back--"

"We're all the same town," Archie Andrews said loudly. "He's not stabbing anybody!"

"The Southside needs a lot of work!" the Mayor said. "Too much!"

"Because you ignored us for seventy-seven years!" Toni retorted.

Fangs raised his hand. The Mayor ignored him. Instead she called on Betty Cooper, who also had her hand raised.

"I think Fangs Fogarty has a question," Betty said.

The Mayor began to look like she had swallowed a waterbug, but Fangs took the moment and ran with it, pouring all his concerns out.

"I really want to go to science class and shop class," he said, addressing all the assembled people. "In rooms that have, you know, working chairs with four legs apiece. And I want to have, like, semi-clean bathrooms in my school, with actual plumbing. And a ceiling. And I want to read all the Popular Mechanics that came out after 1941--"

"And you will," the Mayor said, like he was being colossally unreasonable. "At Riverdale High! Or is the Northside not good enough for you?"

Toni said, "Oh, for the love of--"

"I need that young woman removed," the Mayor said immediately. Two deputies descended on Toni.

Jughead, Sweet Pea, Fangs, and, weirdly, Archie all moved to defend her, but then the Mayor said, "Anyone interfering will also be removed and will not have a say!"

"Don't," Toni said miserably. "Stay here and fight the fascists any way you can."

Archie still tried to get a deputy to back off. The Mayor had them both led away.

"What's going to happen to our seventy thousand if you're not going to give us a school, then?" Jughead demanded then.

"I'm glad you asked. We are going to repair your lovely church, and, as a special treat, my Josie will sing for you there every Sunday!" said the Mayor.

The Mayor was known around town as the only Riverdalian to miss all the concerts. But Josie looked horrified.

"Mom!" Josie turned and looked out at the other teenagers, her expression pleading. "This was not my idea!"

"Good! Because it's outrageous!" said Betty. "This is all just to benefit your child at the expense of countless other children--"

"Listen," snapped the Mayor. "You and your little friends showed up with a highly dangerous criminal who had to be transferred to maximum security prison, costing us at least a thousand dollars--"

"That's not even a lot!" Veronica put in. "And it's not like we were friends with Penny Peabody--"

"You know what?" said the Mayor. "Enough!"

All of the teenagers, barring Josie, were removed.

Josie looked like she would prefer to be removed.

The others all sat glumly on the steps of the Town Hall, where Archie and Toni were already waiting. Inside, the adults, who had for the most part indulged them pretty kindly, were pressing the Mayor about the Hiram Lodge corruption scandal. Fangs briefly considered maybe reverting to his original plan to handle the Mayor. He did have his messenger bag on him.

"Hey," Sweet Pea told him. "Sorry about us not getting a school and stuff. I mean, I didn't care, but. Sorry."

"Thanks," Fangs said.

"You deserve better," Kevin Keller informed him, and was loudly seconded by almost everyone there. Fangs nodded at him, too.

Then he thought about it.

"You know," he said slowly. "I have...no idea what we're fighting about. Actually, if they don't touch the high school, which will cost a lot more than seventy thousand to repair, so you know they'll put it off forever, then yeah. We will have to stay at Riverdale High, because apparently they have to educate us under the law. So they'll have to, like, literally give us all the same facilities they give the rest of you."

"Hey!" Archie said, brightening. "That's true!"

"And you guys are okay with that?" Veronica asked the Southsiders.

Toni shrugged. "We've lived with worse."

"What's in the bag, Fangs?" Kevin asked.

"Not a pipe bomb," Fangs told him seriously. "Definitely not a pipe bomb."

-

Toni had not expected to do well in school, but did, taking quickly to English, World Studies, Chemistry, and Geometry.

This was probably because she was put into the remedial classes. Most of the Southsiders were. Luckily, less public shame attached to them for this than might have at another school, because at Riverdale High, remedial classes were also where the administration sent most of the school's beloved Bulldogs.

Tensions between the Southsiders and Bulldogs did crop up, though.

"Hey," Reggie Mantle hissed, in the middle of a pop quiz in Chemistry. "Hey, you're Jughead's girl, right? Do you guys bone? Is it just, like, an earthworm down there? Did you ever do it in a coffin?"

Toni whirled around and stared at him. Generally, when Northsiders 1) said cruel things about her friends, 2) were sexist, and 3) implied that they could not tell the difference between her and a Ghoulie, a sharp stare quelled them.

"Who's more freaky, him or you?" Reggie said. His friends were laughing. Toni narrowed her eyes. She would have to escalate the situation.

But in the end she was sent to Weatherbee's office, and Reggie was just sent to the nurse.

"His arm!" Weatherbee said. "And right before the big game!"

"He was loudly asking me about my sex life," Toni said. "That's harassment."

"Oh, let's not get political," Weatherbee said, waving her off. "You have detention, Ms. Topaz."

So she was in a foul mood by lunch, and it wasn't helped by how hilarious Sweet Pea and Fangs and Joaquin found the fact that she'd hit Reggie Mantle. This was when she finally saw Jughead, who took mostly intermediary and one advanced class, and so was generally split off from his fellow Serpents during the day. Fangs had contrived to sweet-talk someone in the main office to get the five of them the same lunch period, though.

"Jones!" Sweet Pea hooted. "Jones, guess who Toni gave the Southside slam to? Reggie Mantle."

Jughead put his lunch tray down next to hers. His eyes were wide. They were stupid cartoon prince eyes, too, pale green-blue and ringed by dark lashes. Of course they were.

"Stop looking at me like that, snowflake," Toni said. "I know I'm not supposed to be hitting people here, okay? I know what it makes us look like to them, like we're all Ghoulies or something. You don't have to remind me."

She'd almost gotten Valerie Brown and Midge Klump to agree to help start an underground radio show, and successfully convinced Betty and Melody to join her zine. But now both the zine and radio show would probably never happen. None of those girls would want to join a Toni Topaz project. The Serpents always sat by the door during lunch, and those few Ghoulies that had escaped prison always sat near the yogurt bar, but to ask the Northside kids, it was like they were all the same. All the same hivemind. Which was ludicrous. They were two entirely separate hiveminds.

But Jughead just took a bite of his sloppy joe, chewed, and said, "I'm never going to discourage anybody from hitting Reggie Mantle."

Toni stared at him. He was always doing this, ping-ponging from noble and stressed to young and smirky. This was why she preferred girls. Girls were at least apologetic when they became irritatingly inconsistent. Jughead just saw himself as some kind of multifaceted loner diamond.

"Okay, well, you're the leader, so you're supposed to discourage our bad behavior," she told him slowly.

"My dad's the leader," Jughead said. "Or Tall Boy is."

"Tall Boy's dead," Fangs put in.

"What?" Jughead said, aghast.

"Yeah, dude, he was shot in the commotion at Pickens Park," said Sweet Pea.

"Jeez," Jughead said. He didn't stop eating, but he did say, once he'd swallowed. "Sorry."

"Why?" Sweet Pea said.

"Yeah, I didn't know he was dead either, but he was the worst," said Joaquin.

He really had been. There was a lot Toni could tell Jughead about Tall Boy's general penchant for plying drinks on alcoholics, leering at teen strippers, and occasionally betraying them to the Ghoulies. But Jughead had a stupidly innocent streak that meant he seemed to think the Serpents couldn't possibly have a sordid side, and most of Tall Boy's favorite traditions hadn't survived the scrutiny of the Northside, so Toni kept her peace.

"You're the leader of our gang right here, regardless of the status of Tall Boy, whether he be an ex Tall Boy or not," she informed Jughead.

Jughead frowned.

"You guys didn't vote for me," he said, short about it.

"We know!" Sweet Pea said. "You just showed up and started bossing us around!"

Jughead's frown deepened. It made him look pouty. Toni wanted to hit something and wondered if Sweet Pea felt like this all the time.

"We should vote," Jughead decided. "I nominate Toni."

"What?" Toni said.

This made no sense. Sweet Pea, at least, would protest it.

But Sweet Pea just leaned back and crossed his arms, like he was waiting to see how this would play out.

Jughead stood up.

"I nominate Toni Topaz, our own Ellen Ripley, our later-series Sarah Connor, to be the leader of this chapter of the junior Serpents," he said.

He said it like he was ready to get extremely sarcastic and unpleasant with anyone who dared disagree.

"What about the other chapters?" Sweet Pea demanded. "Bambi and Felony and--"

"They can cast their own votes for their own leaders. As we are the de facto junior Serpent leadership team, though--"

"This is crazy," Sweet Pea said. "We don't have a leadership team. We're a disorganized rabble and I like us that way!"

"I nominate Toni to lead the disorganized rabble!" Jughead said.

"Fine!" said Sweet Pea. "She's not a bad choice! I second!"

Toni's mouth dropped open.

"Third," said Fangs quickly.

"I'm in," said Joaquin. "Toni's the leader. Some of the other guys might give us lip, but we'll knock 'em back into line. And having a Jones' blessing will go a long way."

Jughead rolled his eyes, but held his hand out to Toni. She took it and stood. He slipped off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

"Nobody listens to me, Jug," she informed him.

Jughead leaned down so that the curl of his hair brushed her nose. It was almost delightful, except that he had his hands on his hips so that he also looked like a housewife about to chastise a toddler.

"Literally all my ideas for the Serpents, except for the spectacularly bad ones, come from you!" he said. "This just makes it official."

Toni blushed.

"Thanks," she said.

"Hey! Are you gonna go down on your eel girlfriend in front of the whole lunchroom?" shouted Reggie Mantle, from two tables down.

Sweet Pea stood up, picked up his lunch tray, and calmly sent it flying so that it hit Reggie in the head. Reggie, who had already suffered a fractured wrist today, was undeterred by this further abuse. He just picked up a serving of mashed potatoes and lobbed them at Sweet Pea.

The lunchroom erupted into chaos. The Bulldogs were tossing their lunch at the Serpents, the Serpents were tossing their lunch at the Bulldogs, the Vixens were indiscriminately hitting everybody for some reason (the reason was probably Cheryl Blossom), and the Ghoulies, though they were being guarded by a state police officer, were happily cheering for the fight to become more violent, something everyone else thankfully ignored. Jughead quickly grabbed Toni before any flying food could hit her and pulled her to the door, where they ran into Betty, Veronica, Archie, and Kevin.

"Ah, the sweet sound of neanderthals at noon," Veronica said, sitting gracefully at the Serpent table and somehow avoiding being hit by anything. "What are we doing?"

"Voting for a young Serpent leader. Toni's been nominated," Fangs told her, ducking to avoid some peas and following them up with his milk carton, thrown with unerring accuracy at Chuck Clayton. Archie passed him a second milk carton. Fangs gave him a thumbs up.

Veronica was still considering the election.

"I second, in my capacity as an honorary Serpent," she said, because she was still on about that, because of course she was.

Betty sat down now as well, quickly grabbing Sweet Pea's lunch tray and using it to shield herself.

"Will you still have time to do the zine, Toni?" she said. "Melody and I were just talking about it. Well, first we were talking about you hitting Reggie Mantle, which has probably been coming for a while. But we're both excited about the zine."

Toni felt her heart beating with some strange elation. She and Jughead sidestepped together to avoid a volley of mystery meat, and then she answered.

"If I had an able second in command to relieve me of Serpent stuff every now and then, sure," she said, looking up at Jughead.

Jughead shrugged.

"It's not like I have all that many other extracurriculars to worry about," he said.

"Oh!" Betty said, "That's right. I was also meaning to ask you both to join the Blue and Gold with me and Kevin--"

"And," Kevin put in, from where he was crouching on the floor, "what's the deal with this radio show? Why haven't I received the invite for that yet?"

At this point, Principal Weatherbee walked in. He immediately zeroed in on the Serpent table, his face furious. But the new school librarian, Mrs. Slithereed, arrived right on his heels. She gracefully tripped him. He went down, looking confused.

"Reggie Mantle, I know you started this food fight!" Mrs. Slithereed declared, though there was a much better miscreant right in front of her in the form of Sweet Pea. Then she pushed back her rhinestone-snake glasses, tugged down the prim sleeves of her cardigan, and went to go subdue Reggie.

"Let me know when the zine goes live, girls," she whispered to Toni and Betty, as she passed.

-

The end-of-year formal was the first dance in months for the Northside kids and the first dance ever for the Southside kids, so naturally it came to be the only thing anyone talked about.

Or it should have been the only thing.

One day, Jughead walked into school and was greeted by whispers and giggles. This was irritating. He'd only just stopped being greeted this way. His new gang, his new shadow, and the goings-on with the seasons had led to him being almost as infamous around school as Jason Blossom (who had been more popular to begin with and was still stratospherically popular now), and the clamor over all that had only just died down.

But now some other thing was making people stare.

He found out what the minute he walked into the student lounge. He was the first Southsider in today, and so it was only Kevin, Veronica, and Archie who greeted him. Archie was looking slightly hurt for some reason. Kevin rose and met him at the door.

"Don't look now," he said, in the tone he reserved for the juiciest gossip, "but you are the talk of the school."

"Thanks, Kevin, I noticed," Jughead said.

He wanted to put more bite in his tone, but if there was any bite, it glanced off of Kevin. Maybe because Jughead's shadow kept dragging him to Kevin's house to play board games. Kevin kept conquering his kingdoms and destroying his train lines.

"Jughead," Kevin said now. "We know, okay? We know about you and Sweet Pea and Toni and Fangs. Bisexual four-way orgy? Wild!"

"What?" Jughead stammered.

It hadn't been an orgy. It had not been an orgy. It had only been a lot of kissing. Okay, and Sweet Pea's hand down his pants. Only one time, though.

He shakily took a seat next to Archie and Veronica, wondering who could have found out about that and turned it into this. Reggie? But none of the Serpents would tell Reggie.

"Jug," Archie said. "You know, if you, like, started dating four people at once? You could tell me. I wouldn't judge you, dude."

"What?" Jughead said. "I'm not doing that!"

"Nice. Nice. Keep it cool. Keep it casual," Kevin said, nodding.

"One time I was dating five boys at the same time," said Veronica. "It was a nightmare. Would not recommend."

Now Sweet Pea sauntered in, four minutes late and so early for Sweet Pea.

"Jones," he said. "People know."

"I know!" Jughead said. Then he realized what this sounded like.

"No--" he began.

Sweet Pea sank low in his armchair, so that he looked like was trying to melt his long body into the floor. He threw his head back, which coincidentally left him talking to Archie, in the chair right behind him. Archie, who had been his soulmate and who he was still weirdly competitive with.

"Only we Serpents know the truth," he said. "You should just tell people the truth. You and I both know what the truth is, Jones."

Jughead's mouth dropped open.

"Hey," Sweet Pea said guilelessly. "Funny question. You got a date to the formal yet?"

"Oh my god," Veronica said. "I know what this is. It's the old mark-your-territory-with-a-salacious-rumor ploy. Classic maneuver."

"Thank you," Sweet Pea told her.

"He doesn't have to go to the formal with you just because he slept with you!" Archie said now, indignant.

"I'm not going to the formal with anybody. Teen dances are not exactly my scene. And I didn't sleep with him!" said Jughead. "I mean I did, but not like--"

It didn't matter. No one was listening to him.

Archie was saying, "Well, either way, maybe you could go to the formal with me."

"With you?" Jughead said, his voice high.

This was impossible. This was another alternate universe. An unexpectedly not-terrible one.

"Sure," Archie said, uncomfortable for some reason. "You could go to the formal with me, uh, and with Betty."

Betty chose this moment to walk in with Fangs and Toni, and so she overheard.

"The formal?" she said. "Oh, sorry, Arch. I'm going with Trev Brown."

Archie looked betrayed, like he'd been counting on her to help him lure Jughead away from Sweet Pea.

Jughead looked at Toni. Not to ask her to the formal -- he hadn't been kidding about that. Jughead Jones and school dances mixed like sardines and strawberry ice cream (which he'd eaten together once, because he'd been hungry, and he could certify that the combination didn't work). Still, there was a double-feature at the Bijou the night of the dance.

But then Toni said, "I wasn't going to do this whole formal thing, but Melody Valentine asked me. I said yes! I mean, she's gorgeous."

She looked bewildered but not unhappy. Jughead tried not to feel disappointed, and failed completely at this.

"I can't believe no one in this group has asked me, honestly," Veronica put in now.

Fangs said, "Wait. But like. Reggie and Felony and Ethel Muggs and Jason Blossom all asked you. Polly's going with Jason's sister, did you guys know?"

"I was privy to that particular strand of the grapevine," Veronica said. "And of course I've had tons of invites. I just thought one of you would invite me too, and instead Jughead's the most popular girl in our group."

But by now the rest of Serpents had trickled in through one door to the lounge, and the Bulldogs had trickled in through another. And both Joaquin and Moose Mason were very obviously trying to catch Kevin's eye.

"Second most popular," Jughead said wryly.

-

FP didn't trust the Northside hospital. He was instead treated by Doc, an old Serpent whose home remedies were dubious but who did manage to get him on his feet. He had a mess of scar tissue on his chest and strange aches in places he never had before, but he was upright enough to say he was fine.

Mostly fine. For the first few weeks, talking to Jug was like trying to lure a little garden snake out of a hole. It took patience, and patience was something FP had never been good at when it came to people he loved.

"How's school?" he'd try asking, despite not knowing the first thing about school.

"Fine," Jughead would say.

"They didn't try to stick you in those special classes, did they? You're too smart for those."

"There are smart people in the special classes too," Jughead would retort. "Toni. Fangs. You know, the other Serpents. My friends."

Jughead knew the Serpents were a sore spot between them. And even though he knew, he'd always poke at that sore spot, go in for the kill, instinctively a hellion like that. FP had tried to get him out of here, to push him to light and easy happiness, but there was a side to Jughead that was pure brawler, dirty-knuckled and reckless. He was like his old man in that way. FP hated this almost as much as he loved Jughead himself. Some nights he'd pull himself up from the couch and stumble over to the bedroom, look in on Jughead while he was sleeping, and feel that fear and love choke him up, sit right there in his throat like some deadly combination he had to spit out at Jughead, all the time, even if it left his kid hating him.

He didn't know how to talk to Jughead. He could fight Ghoulies, guard the Southside, knock heads together at the Wyrm. He could fix a bike with his eyes closed and stagger upright after too many punches and too many drinks. He could lie through his teeth to the Mayor's office and the state and the feds about all those train thefts over the years. He could weave a nice story that laid the blame for Jason Blossom's ordeal on the Ghoulies. He could go slick enough to get one of those state agency types to pony up money for the Southside to get decent sewer lines put in. But he couldn't talk to his boy.

"I can see you're a community leader around here," the agency type had said.

"That's right," FP had said. "That's exactly what I am."

"But what exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Jones?"

"Me?" he'd said. "I'm a soda jerk."

His other skills weren't marketable, but, luckily, Pop Tate welcomed all. And it was good to have an official job, an upright kind of job, one that gave you a regular check so it didn't look strange when you and the gang dug up a bunch of pearls and sold them and started waving a little money around. Fixing up their bikes, or finally buying their kids new toys. Establishing the new Southside soup kitchen. Walking over to that row of wrecks by the railroad, the plain but roomy houses that just needed some paint and elbow grease, and picking out the ones they would stake a claim on.

Hiram Lodge's daughter had found some law on the books that gave the Southsiders their home. So FP and the Serpents, they'd started making it more of a home. He told the clerks at town hall that the big house by the tracks had been the Jones home for those seventy-seven years they'd spent under the thumb of the veil, and paid the fee to get the papers that would prove it. Then he paid a visit to Fred Andrews, shoving back whatever bitter hurt he had, and started talking about how bygones should be bygones -- especially when a man needed a new roof and some weatherizing.

"I've got a crew," he said, knowing full well Fred did not, but pretending he didn't know that, "but, well. I need the materials, and this time--" he held up a finger to drive the point home, "I'm on the straight and narrow, Fred. For my boy. I'm gonna pay my dues now, good and proper."

He mostly was on the straight and narrow, so he sold it. Fred struck a bargain. FP got another job, for weekends and evenings, and this time it was a job on the Southside, fixing homes for the Southsiders. It seemed right to have a Jones do that. And it meant that on one June morning he could show Jug the new house, old and drafty but sturdy. It was the kind of house that gave you hell unless you put sweat and tears into polishing up all that old wood and patching those shattered transoms. Sure, it shook when the 11:33 to Greendale went by. And you couldn't sit on the back porch, since that was practically on the tracks. But Jug could have his own bedroom, which FP thought was something.

Jughead just leaned on one of the doorframes with his hand on his hip, his expression cloudy and terrible.

"Where'd you get the seed money to even start work on this place? And why'd you give Toni and Sweets and Fangs each a check a few months ago?" he demanded.

"Those kids put in work as part of the Serpents, Jug--"

"Where'd you get the money?"

FP could see it playing on his face, because his kid was smart. All those necklaces, bracelets, shiny tiaras at the bottom of the river. The totems of the spring, sold to give this neighborhood some damn rebirth for once. Jughead swallowed hard, and his mouth twisted, angry-like.

"Look," FP bit out. "I know you think I'm not much of a father, I know you think I'm suspicious, Jughead--"

He was furious, because he could try and try and try and his life would never quite go right. Life didn't work like that for the Joneses. They'd been junkyard dogs for a long time, FP just the latest in a line of them, and the only hope was that maybe Jughead might not be.

"--because I'm not like your little friend Red's dad, because I did things I had to do to defend this part of town, and defend you--"

There were spots of color in Jughead's cheeks. He still had that horrible shattered look to him, like FP had done something bad. He spoke anyway, like the words were forced out of him.

"They threw away all that stuff by the lake shore."

"What?" FP snapped.

Jughead swallowed.

"All that--all those antiques you guys are selling? The old toys, and the old car parts. And all the rock down in the quarry, too. I mean, the Northside as good as threw that away. I bet that legally belongs to us too. Right, dad?"

It was FP's turn to swallow. He knew Jughead knew about the pearls, knew Jughead knew they hadn't returned them, they'd lied to the judge's face when Lodge's lawyers had brought it up, but--

"That's right," FP told his boy. "That's right. That's why -- that's how we got some money together for this."

They would get money out of those things. They would now, since Jughead was seriously smart. Maybe better at thinking up plans for the Southside than FP was.

"Hey, I've got something else to show you," FP said. "Come on."

And he tugged him over to the car port, where he lifted the tarp off of Jughead's bike like he was a damn magician, just to see his kid's face go lighter. After that, they even went for a ride, even though it was a school day and that made Jughead late.

"I don't care," he told FP, actually smiling for once.

"Hey. No! You gotta care!" FP said, making sure to be stern about it.

Jughead just rolled his eyes, back to being a hellion again.

When he finally went off to school, FP set about painting the front verandah, ignoring the twinge in his arm that he'd had ever since that day at the lake shore. He was at this for some time when he heard someone come up behind him, heels clacking.

"Can I help you?" he said, without turning around.

There was a time you'd have to turn, for your own safety, but these days the Serpents ran the Southside, so just putting an edge in his voice should do the trick.

"Your back porch is almost encroaching on our public railroad line," came Alice Cooper's voice. "Is that legal?"

FP started, turning around in such haste that he almost got paint on his face.

"Don't see why not," he shot back. "Half this town doesn't even know what the laws are, anyway."

"More than half," Alice noted. "Still. People will complain, FP, since the Jones homestead looks like nothing so much as a hoodlum flashing his backside at us Northsiders."

FP rolled his eyes. Us.

Well, fine, if she wanted it that way.

"You come to berate me about my porch, or can I help you with something?" he said.

He had no idea what she wanted, or he did have an idea, but junkyard dogs didn't get to hope about stuff like that. Alice always deliberately ignored him at Pop's. The one time he'd gone to Jughead's school for some weird concert (three underage models in cat ears had done a cover of some song FP didn't know, the Mayor had cried, and then Fred's son had begun to sing only for several people to say "haven't we had enough of this?" prompting Hiram Lodge's daughter to rescue him by joining in), Alice had ignored him again. When he'd caught sight of her at the post office a few times after that, the ignoring was so intense that it was like she was practically shouting his name.

FP hadn't made a big deal about it. So she ignored him. So what? She'd done worse. She'd carved out his heart. Then, a good long while after that, Penny had handed her a knife and she'd also physically mutilated his tattoo.

"FP," she said now. "I'm doing a piece in the Examiner about the revitalization of the Southside--"

"Like all your other articles calling us, what was it, 'outlaws, hustlers, and desperadoes'?" he said. "If it's a quote you want, Alice, you can count me out. Twist some other man's words."

Alice's face was the picture of mortally offended innocence.

"It is my duty to report all sides, and the extremely poor socialization of your average Southside resident is a matter of town-wide concern," she said. "But this was going to be more of, oh, local interest column, on select Southside families just struggling to get by, piled with sympathetic details. For example, what's life like on the Southside for your average housewife? For Mrs. Jones--"

"Gladys isn't going to talk to you," FP said, his temper flaring again. "She hasn't even come out of the water yet."

"Well, why would she?" Alice tossed back. "She'd only be pledging herself back into marriage with a shameless adulterer--"

"I didn't sleep with you!" FP snapped.

He would have remembered that. It would have been the kind of memory that hit you like drowning, like being carved up. His body and his mind wouldn't have been able to shut up about it afterwards.

"Thank god for that," Alice said, in tones that suggested she'd been dreaming of saying this to him for a while. "What would Jughead and little Jellybean think?"

FP took in a breath.

"Look, you want to drag me through the mud for moving into a house you think taunts the Northside, be my guest. You'll only raise my status with the Serpents," he said. "But don't you think you can jerk me around about my kids--"

"I did something I didn't want to do to save your kid!" Alice said. Her sudden anger lit up her whole face. She was something to terrify the soul. FP liked that.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was?" Alice was saying now. "After I tried to get away, to get you away--"

She'd offered to switch him too, long ago. She had offered that. But the Joneses had done wrong by the Southside, and there needed to be at least one Jones who tried to set it right. And he wouldn't have had Jug or Jellybean if he'd gone. And anyway--

"I'd have been dead in a day," FP said. "Because Fred, he was never gonna last here. He would've been dead in a day."

"Oh, please," Alice said, rolling her eyes. "You don't give him enough credit. He would have been fine. He would have turned the Serpents into some kind of self-righteous libertarian Elks Club, and had them all singing kumbaya and his praises within twenty minutes."

FP blinked.

Oh, god. That was probably true.

"Right! So I made the right choice!"

"You do not make right choices. You picked a house right next to the railroad tracks to welcome your wife," Alice snapped.

"No, I didn't!" FP said. "I picked a house on the side of the street that is legally within Northside boundaries, so that when my ten-year-old's fourteen, if they've bothered to fix our damn high school by then, they've still gotta take her at the good school!"

Alice took a step back.

"What?" FP snarled.

God. Great. Now she was gonna publish that in the Examiner and that Ebeneezer Scrooge Mayor they all had was gonna start proposing they move the official North/South boundary to match the magical North/South boundary. Great.

Alice looked up and down the street. It was a calculated, suspicious gesture, and it belonged on a much younger Alice. This Alice was just as violently arresting as that one, but she was wearing a twinset, so the whole thing honestly felt like she was trying to have it both ways.

"Stop that--" FP began.

She shoved him inside the house, following after and closing the door behind them. He stared at her. She was hot and cold, lively and unbearable. She made him think of misty nights where you could catch a glimpse of the moon, casting a glow so hazy the Southside almost seemed lovely under it. He'd always been prone to craving things, but this was the worst example of it. Sometimes when he'd breathed out, it had just felt like he was trying to force out the memory of his wild old friend, shoving him into rooms and off his bike, into fights and into the Northside, tossing him around. Sometimes, if he was lucky, letting him taste her mouth, her skin. The world had been uncertain and exciting then -- no Hal in sight.

"If you're gonna push me around, I wish you'd put your tongue down my throat," he offered, expecting a slap.

She pulled him in by the back of his neck. Tasting her left the whole world radically simplified, all the bitterness and the emptiness cleared away. He worried her bottom lip a little, because he could. He was panting hard.

"Bed in here?" she said. She raked her nails over the side of his throat. It stung in a way he wanted more of.

"Upstairs," he managed.

Upstairs, he discovered a white cotton camisole and matching bra beneath the twinset, paused very briefly to marvel at how items so boring -- so boring they had to be a deliberate choice, like she wanted to undress and still scream sexless Northside housewife -- could backfire so completely and still look incredible. He helped her take them off. She still had her tattoo, right on her ribcage, beneath her breasts. He traced it with a finger.

"Gonna ask how Hal managed to deal with it?" she said.

"Fuck Hal," he snapped.

Then he thought about it.

"Wait. No. Don't fuck Hal. Fuck me."

She threw back her head and laughed.

He pulled off his shirt, his coveralls. Then her skirt, her beige pantyhose, the white cotton underwear that also was a bad choice if she thought it didn't thrill him to see her in it.

Then he leaned down, getting her ready, his tongue and fingers getting to work. He'd never done this to her, never gotten this far. They'd been sixteen, seventeen, but sometimes you didn't catch up to your desires until it was too late. He should have caught up faster. Should have gone worshipful sooner. He liked the sounds she was making, liked the way her hands tangled painfully in his hair.

He pulled off, fingers still dipping and coaxing, only kiss her hip. Her belly. The corner of her ribs, where the tattoo winked at him. She was breathing hard.

"Are you really going to do this in the house you plan to share with your wife?" she managed.

That threw him off. He pulled back a little, staring down at her. God, she made a picture. But his brain was screaming something, something he couldn't unravel yet.

"It's not for me," he said. "The house, I mean. It's for Jug and Jellybean and their mother. I'll still be at the trailer. Gladys doesn't want anything to do with me, and I'm no good for Jug. Not full-time. Probably not much good for Jellybean, either."

He unraveled the something. It was an enraging something.

"This was so you could have something to hold over my head," he said.

"What?"

"With Gladys," he said, short about it. "With your paper, so you could tell people I've got no morals or something."

He'd forgotten, briefly, what she was like. He pushed away with a snarl, looking for his clothes again.

"You think I was going to fuck you and then brag about it?" Alice asked, sounding as outraged as FP felt. "You think if I wanted to tell people how immoral you are, I wouldn't have like seven million other things to choose from?"

"Why else would Mrs. Hal Cooper shove her tongue down my throat?" he shot back.

Alice pushed herself up on her elbows and blew her hair out of her face, then stared at him like he was dumb as dirt.

"Because you asked," she snapped. "Now get over here and fuck me."

But something now seemed to occur to her.

"Wait," she said. "You think I'm still married to Hal?"

For a moment she looked angry and glorious, and then she grinned.

"You are so fucking shameless," she told him, shaking her head. With a giddy laugh, she was pushing herself up from the bed and then he had an armful of Alice, hand in his hair, mouth on his mouth, other hand snaking down the waistband of his boxers.

Chapter Text

He wasn't going to go to the formal with Archie, because he wasn't sure that invitation stood now that Betty was going with Trev Brown. He also wasn't going to go with Sweet Pea, because, as he explained to Sweet Pea, they could just go to the Bijou that night instead.

Sweet Pea's only answer to this was to glower, which didn't worry Jughead because Sweet Pea's answer to everything was to glower.

But then he stomped into the trailer the Thursday before the formal, clutching a tie and saying, "Dammit, Jones, I bought us the tickets and we're going to the dance!"

He banged the kitchen table for emphasis. FP put his coffee down and said, his voice full of black threat, "You show some damn manners when you come to my house, boy--"

"Sorry, FP. Good morning FP," Sweet Pea said, almost mechanically.

"Thank you," FP said, subsiding.

Sweet Pea banged the table again. "I bought us the tickets and we're going to the dance!"

Jughead stared at his father to see what he would do. FP did nothing. He was reading some book about how to spot scams on the antiques market. Jughead had a sneaking suspicion that this was because the sale of the old caravan had been so successful that now FP was considering perpetuating scams on the antiques market.

This felt like a less pressing issue than the formal. He let it alone for now.

"Dude," he told Sweet Pea. "We agreed. Me. You. The Bijou at seven. John Carpenter night. Escape From New York. Escape From LA."

Though he didn't know why he was stressing that. Probably it only mattered to him. Sweet Pea might not even know who John Carpenter was. No one had ever managed to successfully explain to Jughead how the Southsiders had any sense of pop culture between the years 1941 and 2018. The fact that Toni knew what she knew was probably some kind of miracle.

But Sweet Pea surprised him. He pulled up a chair and said, "John Carpenter directed Big Trouble in Little China, an incredibly racist movie that I hate, so we are not going to spend tomorrow night celebrating him. We are going to the dance. I bought us the tickets."

Jughead stared at him. Then he stared mutely at his father. FP put his book down and said, "Go to the damn dance, Jughead!"

"I don't have anything to wear," Jughead said sarcastically.

The sarcasm glanced off of his father.

"Alice might have something of Hal's that he left," FP offered, taking another swig of coffee.

Jughead shook his head slightly. Alice was not a topic he wanted to discuss again. She always led to questions of Jughead's mother. But FP was very closemouthed about the woman he apparently thought Jughead should live with four-to-five days out of every week. They'd had several fights about it already, because Jughead had no intention of leaving his father. FP was volatile and moody, but he was trying to be better, too. He was trying to beat back some of his worst impulses -- the drinking, the late nights with the remaining old Serpents -- and replace them with exertion: two jobs, two clean homes, the occasional appearance at Jughead's school, even.

He and Alice also kept talking about turning the Serpents into an Elk's Club. But Jughead thought that was just a running joke.

"Why do you even want me to go to the dance?" he asked his father now.

"Be good for you," FP said. "Be good for all of you. Get out, be kids, do kid things. You could watch a movie anytime. You gotta go out and live. This town was grim and dead, trying for horror-thriller garbage, for seventy-seven years. Now you get a chance to have some damn fun. I think you'd better take it. I'd take it, if I were you."

He went back to learning about antique scams. The conversation was over, unless Jughead wanted to be faced with an indignant finger and a declaration that he was a boy.

Kevin lent him a suit. It was loose in the arms, but very dapper, because it was Kevin's.

"How do we look?" Kevin said, when he and Jughead came down the stairs into the well-lit Keller family entry hall.

"You look incredible, son," said Kevin's father proudly.

He was not so moved by Jughead. But Veronica, who was wearing something spangled with flowers and had black hollyhocks wound into her shimmering gold headband, and so was a definite authority on dressing to the nines, clapped her hands and said, "Both total smokeshows!"

"Oh, thanks dad, thanks Ronnie, but I was actually asking the shadow," said Kevin.

Jughead's shadow gave him a thumbs up, while Jughead sighed.

But the dance wasn't completely terrible. At first it was almost fun, though Archie was strangely glum for some reason. Toni looked extremely pleased to be dancing with Melody Valentine, which twisted something up in Jughead, but it also made him happy for her. Betty was another radiant spot, laughing happily with Trev Brown. Fangs had elected to go stag, but picked up a number of Vixen hangers-on because he looked, to quote Veronica, "delectable" in a tux. The Pussycats even played an original number, surprising Jughead and all the Northsiders. For as long as everyone had known them they had only played covers.

In the middle of the song, Sweet Pea started tugging him to the student lounge. He said, "Jones. Come on. This is boring. Let's go make out."

"You wanted to come," Jughead said.

But he obliged because he really did like making out, liked the weightless ease with which they kissed, the weird victory of sucking a bruise onto Sweet Pea's neck. Sweet Pea was mostly just a friend, but there was a comfort in it.

But when they tumbled out of the student lounge, their ties askew and their shirts disheveled, all hell had broken loose.

The first sign of this was Jason Blossom, standing in the hall, being comforted by his date, Tina Patel. Jason had gone slightly morbid ever since his adventures in the lake and in Fox Forest, and had taken to telling people that he had vivid dreams about a universe in which his own father had shot him in the head.

"I spoke to you in that dream and asked you to write my story," he'd told Jughead once, very seriously.

"Whatever helps you process the trauma," Jughead had said. He was writing a story, but about his father and his friends, not Jason.

Now, however, Jason was more than morbid -- he was irate.

"Keller won king of the formal?" he said. "Keller? Who voted for him?"

Now Reggie Mantle stumbled out of a closet with his date, Midge Klump. Reggie said, "I did, man. Sorry, but you just went and got kidnapped, while Keller at least helped us fight off Jughead's creepy ghost."

He made a V with his fingers, pointed the V at his eyes, and then aimed the V at Jughead. Then he and Midge sauntered back to the auditorium. On their way in, they passed Cheryl Blossom running out, her shining red hair and the train of her blood-red dress streaming behind her.

"Don't worry, Jay-Jay," she told her brother seriously. "I know you're still smarting about Pollykins preferring me to you, and Kevin Keller being voted king has only made things worse. But I've done everything I can to make it right."

"Oh god," Jughead said.

"I think I'm gonna like this," said Sweet Pea.

In the auditorium, for absolutely no reason that Jughead could discern, everyone was now standing in a circle. Josie McCoy and Valerie Brown were in the middle, loudly arguing about artistic integrity, tears streaming down their faces. Several other people in the circle were also crying.

Jughead located Betty, who was usually the most sensible person in the room, and said, "What's going on?"

Betty looked as confused as he felt.

"Cheryl says it's a game called secrets and sins," she said. "But the only rules are to say mean things to each other."

"Oh my god. I do like this," Sweet Pea said.

"It's riveting," Veronica told him. She started counting secrets off on her fingers. "Chuck Clayton revealed that he and the Bulldogs had some kind of skeevy conquests book, but he pointed out all the people who he thinks fudged their numbers in it and told us their most embarrassing date stories and told them all to go to church for some reason. Moose tried to go for the jugular with Joaquin, but it backfired, and Kevin ran after Joaquin. Fangs revealed that his soulmate this whole time was Dilton Doiley and warned us all that Dilton is what happens when someone with a reckless disregard for normal society grows up with comparatively great class privilege. Archie said he loves you--"

"What?" Jughead said.

"Like a brother," said Archie, but several people loudly disputed this, Betty and Veronica among them.

"Oh! And Melody Valentine's been in love with Ginger Lopez for a while," Veronica finished.

Jughead looked around for Toni and found her standing at his elbow, looking miserable.

"It's okay," she muttered. "Ginger just confessed her sexuality pretty bravely to everyone, so. I mean. I'd be an asshole if I stood between them."

At this point Cheryl swanned back in, holding a bottle.

"Let's do this too!" she said. She pointed a finger at her first victim.

"Veronica. The first spin shall be yours."

It landed on Sweet Pea.

"I'm gonna do it, Jones," Sweet Pea said. "She looks at her parents like any second now she'll let me tie them up and stuff them in the safe."

Jughead stared at him.

"That's a good thing!" Sweet Pea said.

"You have my blessing, then," Jughead said slowly.

"Hey!" said Archie. "Veronica's my date."

Veronica just sighed and took Sweet Pea's arm, heading for the hall closet. She tapped Archie lightly with her clutch as she passed him.

"You're just too good for me, Archiekins," she said lightly. "You're the perfect boy. So perfect."

"What?" Archie said, baffled.

"She just, uh, dumped you, I think," said Trev Brown. "But she did it really nicely."

-

Jughead ended up walking Toni home to the bodega, where she'd been staying with Sweet Pea's family ever since her Ghoulie uncle had been sent to prison. Actually, possibly ever since her Ghoulie uncle had become a Ghoulie.

Everyone had made plans to meet at Pop's after the dance, but Toni wanted to change out of her dress. Valerie Brown had lent it to her, and she told Jughead she didn't want to stain it.

"Val's kind of the MVP of our radio show. So I have to stay on her good side," she said, frowning.

It was a hot, balmy night on the Southside. The trees above them were green and vital-looking, crickets chirped in Pickens Park, and the moon was so huge and summer-bright that everything seemed dipped in silver. The streaks in Toni's hair were blue-green now, as a public show of Serpent solidarity. She tucked a strand nervously behind her ear once they reached the bodega.

"So," she said.

"Um," said Jughead.

He kissed her. He just dove into it, like diving into the water, or into the unknown. Into change and rebirth and new sides of yourself. She brought a hand up to his shirt and tugged him in by his tie, and rather boldly used her other hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck that was poking out from under his beanie.

Usually the thought of being without his beanie was frightening, but he ended up pulling it off. She seemed to like his hair. After they'd spent some time kissing on the porch, she said, "Not bad, snowflake. Getting better."

"I'll have you know I was told I was smooth," Jughead said, with mock-seriousness.

"I'm sure someone told Argento that Giallo was a good movie and that shock horror about young women obsessed with serial killers who are threatening their sisters is somehow innately feminist," Toni said. "It's not."

She had a point.

After she'd gone inside, there was still time to kill before he had to meet the others at Pop's, so he walked the Southside. His shadow was large and dark under the streetlights, and seemed to have ideas about where he should go.

"I've spent my life struggling not to be overwhelmed by the tribe," Jughead told it. "Barring certain frankly insane developments this past year. But still. Don't you start, too."

But he wasn't really annoyed at the shadow for doing this. It would be important, in the novel, to get down what the Southside looked like now that it was preparing for its first summer in seventy-seven years. Here and there he found bits of brightness that hadn't existed before. Houses with new coats of paint, and bright, cheerful lights on in the gas station for once. A barber shop where there'd been a liquor store, with a candy-striped pole and plush red seats, and several people laughing inside.

The Southside bridge, stretching now all the way to Greendale.

He almost wanted to walk it, but at the far side Sheriff Keller, the Mayor, several deputies, and a work crew were engaged in the business of setting up a tollbooth and police outpost. One thing both the North and Southside agreed upon was the need to monitor whatever might come in from Greendale. So Jughead just walked the bridge halfway, squinting into the gloom beyond, and then turned to go.

He heard music.

Specifically, he heard Pink Floyd's The Wall.

There was a child sitting with her legs dangling off the side of the Southside bridge. She had a radio and a lunchbox. She was talking to her shadow.

"How can you have any pudding?" she told it seriously. "If you don't eat your meat?"

From there it devolved into a terrifying imaginary pantomime that seemed to involve enslaved princesses, gorillas with laser eyes, cruel Scottish schoolteachers, and the eventual overthrow of the state. It only stopped when her radio skipped and she gave an agonized yell and several curses no child was supposed to know, but that Jughead had definitely also known at that age.

He crouched next to her.

"Hi," he said. "Need help?"

He picked up the radio. It was full of water. Of course it was. It was a miracle it had worked at all.

The girl was now staring at him with the cool gaze of a child that knew that danger lurked everywhere, but who did not especially intend to be afraid of it.

"My mother's coming any second," she told Jughead.

"Yeah?"

He found himself breathing hard, but not for the reason she thought.

"She's been too scared to come. The more time passes the more scared she gets. So I came, and now she has to come."

"I'll wait with you," Jughead said.

They waited for a while. She showed Jughead several things in the lunchbox: a waterlogged CD case, a pile of soggy hair ribbons, a switchblade. On the other end of the bridge, the Mayor was shouting things. Below them, the water remained black and calm. The new bell on the church ringed the hour, and Jughead's shadow began to stretch back towards Riverdale and Pop's. It was almost time to meet his friends, but he didn't want to go.

The girl crossed her arms.

"I'm hungry, you know," she told Jughead expectantly.

"I'll get you a burger," Jughead said quickly. "Pop Tate's. The best kind. Come on."

This appeared to please her. Jughead took her hand.

When they reached Pop's, the neon sign winked at them. Inside, the diner was riotous. Chrome and color, spinning red barstools, jukebox music. Jughead lifted the girl onto one of the stools even though she was big enough to lift herself, something that made her roll her eyes. Then he looked around for his dad. FP was working today. FP should see her.

"Welcome," Pop was telling the newcomer. "Should I guess? Or do you want to tell me."

"Don't guess," the girl instructed seriously. "I want to pick."

She examined the milkshake menu with grim attention. She insisted on whispering her order to Pop, and only Pop. Then she turned her huge dark eyes on the whipped-cream bedecked glasses everywhere, the cups of coffee, the shiny mirroring on the side walls.

Jughead found his father taking someone's order in the corner.

"Dad!"

FP looked up slowly, annoyed at being disturbed, and then dropped his notepad.

His hands were shaking when he embraced his daughter. She put her head in the crook of his shoulder and said, very seriously, "Dad, you smell better than the last time I saw you."

-

Betty and Trev Brown arrived, still wrapped up in each other. The glow of Pop's gave Betty's sunshiney hair and green eyes new dimensions, and Jellybean's elaborate dream world, which she was now explaining to Jughead, acquired a witch. Betty wasn't offended.

"My mom used to try and get me to want to be a princess, when I was a kid," she told Jellybean. "But I always wanted to be magic. Or at least to just be me."

"Makes sense," said Jellybean.

Sweet Pea and Veronica trailed in too. Veronica, after squealing delightedly about how she'd always wanted a sister, ordered Sweet Pea to cut a tulle rose off of her dress and contributed it to the Pink Floyd lunchbox to seal the deal. After a moment's thought, she also gave Jellybean a hollyhock. Sweet Pea examined Jellybean's switchblade and pronounced it an excellent one.

Kevin taught her how to high-five the shadow. Toni, gently shoving Jughead off of his barstool and stealing it for herself, showed Jellybean how to design a truly punk rock protest slogan on a napkin. Archie arrived and also stuck close, submitting himself to play Prince Charming in the pantomime.

"Suits you, Arch," Jughead told him.

Archie grinned back at him so brightly he was left feeling a little dazed.

Then Alice Cooper came by with some dinner for FP, and promptly confiscated Jellybean's switchblade. The pantomime acquired an evil stepmother.

Jughead sat to one side, while his friends entertained Jellybean or Jellybean entertained his friends (hard to tell which), and felt somehow boundaryless, somehow not alone.

Not not-himself. Just not alone.

"Alright, Juggie?" said Pop, coming up now and busying himself with the coffee machine.

"Pop," Jughead said, and then for once couldn't think of what to say next. This felt so new and so bright that it almost hurt. He wasn't sure he deserved any of it.

Actually, maybe he really didn't.

"Pop, when I was with Penny--"

"You're always gonna have a dark side, Juggie," Pop said simply. "Always. We may sometimes think we can get rid of our dark, push it off on somebody else, or lock it out of the house. But there's always a door left open into the shadows. Into the unknown. We need that too, you know. The dark's the place you rest in. It's where we keep our best sleep, and fireflies. And bats. But we all need somebody to call us back from there sometimes."

He put a cup of coffee in front of Jughead. Jughead wound his fingers around it gratefully.

"You're the one who really gave us the seasons, right?" he said. "Who put them in the totems?"

But Pop was bobbing away now, pretending not to hear. All the chatter and life of the Chock'lit Shoppe meant this was almost a believable fiction. The jukebox was saying:

If you let me, here's what I'll do: I'll take care of you.

The Pop's bell rang.

Someone sat next to Jughead. A woman. After a second, he felt the press of her hands on his hair, his cheekbone. Her hands were trembling, like she thought he might disappear.

He had too much emotion trapped in his throat to tell her that he hadn't done that in months.

She said, her voice very shaky, "I owe you an apology. I stayed away. It wasn't right, but I guess I thought you could be fine without me."

"I get it," Jughead said. His cheeks were wet. He hoped no one had noticed his mother yet. No one seemed to, and he wanted to be the first one to look at her. But he didn't have the courage to turn his head.

His mother picked up a napkin and wiped his cheeks. Jughead had seen Mary Andrews and Alice Cooper do this to their children so, so many times, but no one had done it for him until now.

He turned to face her, fast, before he could talk himself out of it. She was a pale, dark-haired, distorted mirror of him. It hurt to look at her, but he didn't want to look away, because that would hurt too.

"You're smart," she stammered out. "It's not an excuse, but that's what I heard. Smart, independent. The perfect boy. And I just -- just felt damaged I guess. Weird. Not much at mothering, to be honest--"

"Mom," Jughead said. "I really get it. Please don't."

She wrapped her arms around him. She said, "I'm not leaving you again. I promise."

Pop, mopping up now nearby, hummed along to the jukebox. His countertops gleamed. His menus were shiny and laminated, forever-crisp, promising the same medicine they had offered for the past seventy-seven years. The sign on his door said:

EVERYONE WELCOME TO POP'S CHOCK'LIT SHOPPE

Chapter Text

Fangs Fogarty trailed his former soulmate to the Southside Bridge.

Dilton was a danger. So was Fangs, but Fangs hadn't been making frequent secret trips to the Greendale border all spring.

Now, Dilton encountered some obstacles. The Mayor. Sheriff Keller. Several deputies and a work crew. But Dilton was a Northsider, and only needed to be clean and presentable to talk his way out of anything, so this was what he did now. Fangs squinted, trying to make out his words. They could be anything. They could be I was just sleepwalking, Mayor McCoy, or I just wanted to say hello to you in particular, Mayor McCoy.

Fangs felt himself frowning.

Up until tonight, the only person he had explained the full contours of Dilton's sociopathy to had been Melody Valentine, late one night in the library, They'd both been working on Toni's zine and Toni herself had fallen asleep. Among all the back issues of Popular Mechanics, it had finally felt like a safe time to come out with it.

"I mean, sure, we always knew he was a psycho," Melody had said, with a shrug of one perfect shoulder. "But you're right. We were all just like: 'haha, guess every school needs a kid who wants the rest to attack each other in a class war with guns.' And, in hindsight, that is super weird."

"If only I could figure out what he's up to, going out to the bridge every night," Fangs had said, biting his lip.

"He's, like, a survivalist," Melody advised him. "One time, he set fire to part of the music room using just some sunlight he magnified with his glasses."

"Christ," Fangs had said. "We'd better stay quiet about this until I figure out what to do."

"Good idea," said Melody. "No point riling everybody up. We'll be, like, silent background players until we find the right moment to explain just why Dilton is a special danger, what with his unusual blend of twisted nature and far-too-indulgent nurture."

Now Fangs watched the glasses. Dilton was moving his head oddly, and when Fangs leaned in, he could see the way the glasses reflected light from the newly-installed streetlamps onto the water.

A long strip of light, then a short one.

"It's a code," Fangs realized. "That bastard."

But a code for whom?

Whoever it was lurked out in the Greendale woods, the one place in the world even Fangs didn't want to go. But he had to go. He had to do this.

He dove into the water.

On the Greendale side, the night was much darker than it was in Riverdale, almost a perfect black. The trees felt alive, and not in a good way. It was eerily cold.

But Fangs had grown up on the Southside. He squared his shoulders and climbed carefully through the undergrowth.

A man in a black mask was crouched beneath a gnarled tree.

"Yes," he was muttering. "Yes, we prepare for the bloodletting."

Fangs crept up behind him, pulling out his switchblade. He forced it into the small of the man's back.

"Stand up," he said. "Take off your mask and pass it back to me."

Because this was Greendale, the man complied without a hint of fear. In fact, he laughed maniacally, delightedly.

"Yes! You and I are the same!" he said. "The same, Betty!"

Okay. That was weird. Even weirder that he was altering his voice somehow.

Fangs managed to pull the mask on with a hand and forced the man to the bridge, to where Dilton was still talking his way out of trouble. Sheriff Keller saw them first.

"What the hell?" he said. He reached for his gun, but of course the state had put the local Riverdale PD on a taser-only probation period until September. Scowling, he approached with his taser. The Mayor followed after, and so did a dismayed Dilton.

Fangs grinned under the mask. Dilton's dismay was delicious.

"What do you two want?" the sheriff demanded.

"I'm Joseph Svenson!" said the man.

"Who?" said the Mayor.

The man faltered.

"Joseph Svenson. My other name is--"

The Mayor waved a hand at him. "I don't actually care. You just showed up two seconds ago. You can't expect people to know or care who you are when you've only been here two seconds. What's your business in Riverdale?"

"Don't tell them!" Dilton hissed.

"I'm the Black Hood!" croaked the man. "Or else maybe sent here by the Black Hood! Doesn't matter -- because of your wickedness, I am here! I am going to make Riverdale walk the path of righteousness! I am--"

The Mayor pulled out a gun. Fangs jumped back. So did the Black Hood.

"We have more than enough vaguely evil loons in this town," said the Mayor, with either a great deal of self-awareness or else a stunning lack of it. "You go back into those woods and--"

The Black Hood didn't stay for the rest of her rant. He ran for the woods. Fangs ran for the water, to get back across. As he did, he heard the sheriff say, "Dilton, son, did you know those two?" and then a shriek, and then the sheriff saying, "Did you just stab yourself?"

When Fangs came up on the Riverdale side, Sheriff Keller was dragging a protesting Dilton down the bridge to the street.

"It was the Southside," Dilton was whining. "The Southside!"

"Son," Sheriff Keller said tiredly, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The Mayor was still shouting at the Black Hood, loud enough to be heard back on this side of the river.

"And you stay out of Riverdale, you hear me? Stay out of Riverdale!"