Work Text:
You're going to do it.
Jughead dragged the ladder through the grass as noiselessly as he could manage. The shed, of course, had been on the opposite side of the house from Betty's room, right under the open but mercifully empty window of Alice and Hal Cooper. It was a risk, but Betty was trapped in her bedroom, and there were so many reasons why Jughead couldn't let that happen, Alice Cooper be damned.
Besides, there was something about the way Betty's father had towered over her when he yelled that made Jughead just need to do it, like an itch. If only so Betty could know that at least one (1) person in the universe didn't think she was clinically insane/"too perfect" (which, what???)/unworthy of anything beyond the friendzone. If only so Betty could know that if he could have, he would have been there. (For her.)
His legs were cramped from hours of squatting behind various bushes, trying to get a good visual of what was happening in the bedroom without being seen. He'd considered breaking into Archie's house, but then he'd heard the sound of soulful strumming emanating from somewhere inside and reconsidered. He'd also considered calling 9-1-1, figuring that whoever answered had to be used to crazy parents doing crazy things to their children, because this was Riverdale--and then he had realized that 9-1-1 probably went straight to Sheriff Keller and reconsidered again. And so he'd had to wait for the slam of the door, for them to just leave Betty alone. It had felt like hours, because every second was another second that Betty was alone in there and who knew if she was even still there and what if they'd taken her away and he hadn't noticed and how fast could they get her somewhere where he couldn't find her and he would have noticed if they'd left--right? And every second was another second where he had to crane his neck to make sure that she was still there, on her bed or at her desk, second after second after second after second after second.
Then, finally, the Cooper parents had left, and Jughead had gone looking for a ladder.
You're going to do it. Come on, Jones, just grit your teeth and do it --no, he couldn't grit his teeth, or she'd--this was way too complicated.
You're going to do it, because she calls you Juggy, and she doesn't leave you alone, and she must have listened about the Drive-In because she said Rebel Without a Cause, and she likes vanilla milkshakes and pastel sweaters and you now, apparently; and she looks at you like you're a friend and not a charity case, and she lets you eat her chips, and she deserves to know, because she deserves so much more.
Jughead was having an extremely difficult time trying to prop up the ladder at the right angle to reach Betty’s window--especially because he had to stay quiet, because the Cooper parents were still somewhere in the house, lurking. Finally he managed it-- finally-- and his mind was whirling as he began to precariously scramble up. What could he say? What should he say? What did people say, when they climbed up a ladder to rescue someone from their evil parents and also possibly--?
Tap-tap-tap. Betty looked up from her desk, and yeah, this was definitely the last thing she had expected. Incredulity, amusement, and what seemed a whole lot like affection flashed across her face, but she stood and started walking over. This was it.
He could make a Rapunzel reference--but that was a bit too sexist for his taste, and besides, in some versions Rapunzel went a bit insane nearing the end of her time in the tower, so that would be pretty insensitive…
She bent over and slid the window open, and it was too late.
"Hey there, Juliet."
No.
There was no ladder in Romeo and Juliet! There was a balcony, and Romeo was below it, not climbing into her bedroom like a creep! Also, the connotation of 'Juliet' was…a bit forward. A bit really forward. But Jughead had no time to backtrack, so he plunged right ahead and hoped she hadn't noticed. "Nurse off duty?" he tried. "You haven't gone all Yellow Wallpaper on me yet, have you?"
Was that offensive? Maybe not? Well, if she did go 'all Yellow Wallpaper,' it would be totally her parents' fault, just like in the story, but would she know that was what he was trying to say? Then again, who was he kidding--Betty always knew what he was trying to say.
She didn't seem offended, anyway, he reflected, trying to climb into the room without getting his muddy shoes on her window-seat. She seemed more…distracted. Angry and distracted, which was…a pretty good look on her. Also worrying.
To be honest, though, she had every reason to be angry and distracted, so he really shouldn't be worried.
"They're crazy," Betty told him in an exasperated half-laugh, half-sob. "My parents are crazy."
Jughead couldn’t help but wonder how she didn't already know that, but then again, she probably did. "They're parents," he pointed out. "They're all crazy."
Betty didn't seem comforted. "No, but--what if Polly is, too? I mean, the way she was talking to me, the way she looked at me--" She started pacing. "And now, all I can think is, ‘Maybe I’m crazy like they are.’"
“Hey.” Jughead reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder, steadying her before she could turn away. For some reason, the touch alone seemed to help. "We're all crazy," he said, knowing that she would understand just how much he meant it. "We aren't our parents, Betty. We aren't our families."
Betty exhaled shakily, nodding--she already knew that, of course, but it had to help to have a reminder from someone she--well, trusted.
"Also--" he began, but the word caught in his throat, because she was looking at him, and when did Jughead start taking her trust for granted?
"...What?"
She was so--effervescent, vivacious, brilliant, baffling, bright, unflappable, unfathomable, irrepressible, precious--
"What?" Betty said again, and Jughead's mind shut down, because he was leaning and reaching out and touching and--and kissing her--
His heart was in his throat, and there was a knot of something indefinable where it had been, something beautiful and writhing and alive.
There was no one word in the universe that could describe Betty Cooper, Jughead thought fiercely.
She broke the kiss first, pulling back just slightly, but she was impossibly smiling: somehow, after being kissed by the least desirable person in all of Riverdale, she was happy, and Jughead felt his heart jump another inch.
Then she started. "The car!"
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside Jughead and spilled out of him. "Wow. That's what you’re thinking about in the middle of our moment?"
"No--Polly talked about a car Jason had stashed for them down Route 40 near some sign--if we can find it, we can confirm Polly’s story!"
Her eyes pleaded with him, begging him to understand. He did, of course he did. Of course.
"One way or another," he added gently. If Polly was wrong, and this was some sort of delusion she'd woven around herself to keep warm…
"I need to know, Juggy."
Of course she did. He knew that, and she knew that he knew, and he knew that she knew that he knew, and it all kept going in this endless beautiful circle of knowing. And of course she had been happy. They didn't need some sort of angsty heart-to-heart to know that, cliché or no cliché, they…belonged together. They were BettyandJughead--hooked at the brain, like a Vulcan mind-meld.
Jughead didn't bother to hide the twitching at the corners of his lips. He was so goddamn happy. He was giddy, he was elated, he was in love with Betty Cooper, and he should just stop writing his novel right now, because he could never be impartial again.
"Well, then,” he told her, “let's go."