Chapter Text
It had been a long day in the office of the Blue and Gold. Betty and Jughead had been through the all the leads on Jason’s murder that they’d had, if only in the hope of finding something they had previously overlooked. Unsurprisingly, nothing came up. It was past seven o’clock when they finally decided to give up, and both were starving.
“Wanna get something from Pop’s?” Jughead suggested, taking off his beanie and ruffling his hair in exhausted frustration. Betty couldn’t help but watch as he did so.
“Sure,” she sighed, and started packing up her things.
It was a slow walk to Pop’s, partly because they were so tired, but also because they (well, mostly Jughead) were describing what they wanted to get. Jughead described the texture of a chocolate malt in great detail to Betty, who was listening patiently.
In his dark clothes, and with his usually broody demeanour, he looked almost at home under the gloom of the orange streetlights. The colour of the light on his face seemed to complement his pale features in a way that sunlight couldn't. Jughead looked at her. She realized he had asked her a question, and realized too late that she had been staring.
“What? Sorry, what was the question, Juggie?”
“Something on your mind, Cooper?” he asked with a wry smile. Even under the orange light, he saw her blush clear as day. His heart stuttered, but he didn’t know why. That was something to think about later, when the insatiable void in his a stomach had been, however temporarily, appeased.
“No; I’m just a little preoccupied with the case, is all,” she lied.
“Betty, we can solve it, I’m sure of it. We’ll find the killer.” Jughead was so earnest; it made Betty smile, and gave her hope.
“Yeah, I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” He side-eyed her as she smiled. She had a smile that made the night seem a little brighter. He smiled back.
They made it to the parking lot of Pop’s. Jughead and Betty strolled through the parking lot, laughing, when they heard a crack. Even to Jughead’s untrained ear, it sounded like a gunshot. His heart started to beat faster, immediately on alert, and he whipped his head in the direction from which the sound came. There was only silence.
“Juggie?” Betty said faintly.
Time is a funny thing; when one witnesses - or is a part of -a traumatizing event, the passage of time becomes arbitrary. One moment may drag on forever, and another may accelerate instantaneously. Every breath, heartbeat, or blink can take either an eternity or a second to complete. For Jughead, time slowed to a complete stop. As he dragged his eyes away from Betty’s, down to her hands, which were clasped over her stomach, Jughead could feel each and every interval of dread developing in the pit of his stomach. He watched as blood started to leak through her fingers, trickling out millilitre by millilitre, slowly dropping to the ground. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It must have been a trick, it must have been. Rage reached out its’ fiery hands and gripped Jughead’s heart, making it beat so hard as to make it painful. Why her? Why not take me instead? Silence answered him, and Jughead became empty, his mind thoroughly cleared of every thought. Jughead heard his heart thump in his ears. I couldn’t have stopped this. The realization kick-started time once more, and Jughead took action, heart hammering against his ribs.
“Betty! Fuck! Betty!” He scrambled to her as her legs gave out, holding her gently and lowering her to the ground, as she whimpered. “It’s going to be okay, Betts, it’s going to be okay. Stay with me.” Jughead was overwhelmed with alarm; the lamenting klaxons in his mind clawed at him, threatening a breach in sanity. What next? What do I do?!
But luckily, Pop had seen Betty and Jughead, and ran immediately through the restaurant. He opened the door.
“Jughead!” he yelled.
“Pop, call an ambulance! Betty’s been…” Jughead choked; his voice strangled, and he couldn’t finish the sentence. He felt his eyes stinging.
He saw Pop run back into the Chock’lit Shoppe and pick up the phone.
“Juggie,” Betty whispered. Her breathing was shallow, her sweater stained red with blood.
“Okay, Betty, Pop’s calling for an ambulance. You’re going to be okay.” Jughead stared desperately into Betty’s eyes, and she in his direction, her gaze unfocused.
Jughead tore off one of his flannel layers, wadded it into a ball, and placed it on Betty’s stomach. She whimpered in pain and coughed, choking on her own blood, which landed on Jughead’s face. There was no time to wipe it off. Jughead pressed harder on the flannel; he felt something warm on his knees, and realized it was blood. Betty’s blood. Was there supposed to be this much blood? Jughead didn’t know, but it was hard to ignore the hot wetness. Jughead could feel his heart beating in his ears, fluttering like a hummingbirds’ wings. He talked to Betty, though she looked through him, millions of miles away.
“You better stay with me, Elizabeth Cooper. You’re not done yet, I swear! You can’t die on me, Betty, you can’t! You need to finish the case! You need to graduate and go to university! You can’t die yet; I need you to live!”
He was crying, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Betty survived. Her breathing under his hands was weak and shallow, the sound of it amplified in Jughead’s mind. He didn’t hear the sirens growing closer; it was only minutes before the ambulance arrived, but to Jughead, time seemed to stretch into infinity.
The two paramedics took over the scene with authority, which Jughead was all too ready to give up. He watched from a distance as they loaded Betty onto the stretcher, and lifted her in. One of the paramedics looked over to Jughead, standing vulnerable in the oscillating blue and red light of the ambulance.
“We can’t take you, I’m sorry. She’s losing too much blood; she needs all the help she can get, and right away.”
The paramedic gave Jughead a pitying look. Jughead nodded, mute and in shock. The doors to the ambulance closed, and Betty was rushed away. Jughead was left standing, hands tight in fists, staring at the puddle of blood in the middle of Pop’s parking lot.
Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder. Eyes wide, he looked up at Pop’s somber face.
“Come inside, kid. There’s nothing more you can do now; they’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Pop steered Jughead in the direction of the Chock’lit Shoppe, and Jughead numbly followed. Jughead’s mind was free of any thought; he barely registered walking into the restaurant.
He found himself in the bathroom, looking into the mirror. The person on the other side was not Jughead Jones. The face was too pale, the lips too white, the eyes too frightened. The bags under his tired eyes were bruises. He looked closer. Specks of blood were sitting timidly on his face, waiting to be noticed. He brought his hand up to rub them away, and noticed that his hand was covered in bright red blood. Betty’s blood. That snapped him back to reality.
What if Betty dies?
Jughead turned on the tap and hot water poured over his hands. What if Betty dies? He scrubbed hard, until the water was burning his hands. What if Betty dies? He didn’t stop, he couldn’t breathe. She can’t die. Jughead was panicking, he knew it, but there was nothing he could do but let it happen. She just can’t, it can’t happen. He scrubbed furiously, his hands redder than they had been before. His heart surged faster and faster, blood rushing so hard in his ears it drowned out all other sound. There had been so much blood. He could feel the bile start to rise in his throat, and he ripped away from the sink to make it to the toilet. What if she dies?
Jughead threw up. He felt dizzy, and lightheaded. Jughead’s breaths came too quick, too deep. He collapsed on the floor.