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Archie Andrews had never really hated Reggie, until now.
“And Sheriff Keller’s grilling me,” Reggie scoffed, bouncing a football in his left hand, “Mantle the Magnificent. ‘Cause I’d want Blossom dead. When he was, like, the only good quarterback we had.” Reggie tossed the football to his other hand. “And speaking of offensive tied ends,” he added, leering, “I should’ve sent the cops to you, Moose. ‘Cause here’s another unsolved mystery: what exactly were you and Kevin doing at the river, huh? Or does being with the sheriff’s son give you a free pass?” He shot Kevin a pointed, smug glare. “Keller?”
“Reggie’s just being a blowhard, Kev,” Archie heard Betty murmur from across the room.
“I don’t care what he says,” Kevin muttered back, jaw tense.
Reggie smirked and switched hands again. “I mean, let’s think about it. If a kid at Riverdale killed Jason, it’s not gonna be a jock, right?” In a swift motion, he chucked the football at no one in particular, and it brought down a lamp with a crash. Kevin’s eyes followed it uneasily. “No, let’s be honest. Isn’t it always some spooky, scrawny, pathetic Internet troll too busy writing his manifestos—“ Archie yanked a bill out of the vending machine and stuffed it in his pocket. Beside him, Jughead shifted uneasily. “—to get laid?” Okay, that was too far. “Some smug—“ He wasn’t— “—moody—“ Okay, yeah, he’d give him that, but— “--serial killer—“ Just, just no. “—fanboy freak?”
Jughead met Archie’s eyes in a silent warning.
“Like…Jughead?”
God, Reggie couldn’t just let implications rest.
“What was it like, Suicide Squad?” Reggie continued, and that was just unfair, Jughead had hated that movie. “When you shot Jason.”
Wait—he actually meant it, Archie realized suddenly. He actually thought Jughead Jones had killed Jason Blossom—what kind of—person was he? It was sick, it was awful, and why wasn’t Jughead saying anything--? “You didn’t do stuff to the body, did you? Like, after.”
Archie closed his eyes, trying his best to pretend he hadn’t just heard that.
Jughead drew in a breath and began. Finally.
“It’s called necrophilia, Reggie,” and this was not going to help Jughead’s public image, because he didn’t even pronounce it necrophilia, he pronounced it necropheelia, like some sort of college professor, his voice dripping with disdain. “Can you spell it?”
The effect was immediate. Reggie, yelling, “C’mere, you little—“, leapt over a couch as though it were a house plant and barreled at Jughead. Archie fell into the game automatically; he’d done this a million times before. Jughead wouldn’t move, he never did, so Archie stepped in to block Reggie’s path.
“Boys—“ Veronica’s voice shouted, but no one noticed.
Reggie swung a fist, Archie ducked, and—
“Reggie!” On the other side of the room, Betty was standing, her hands curled into fists.
It was inexplicable. Reggie froze.
“Reggie, I know what happened in English. I know what you did.” Her eyes blazed. “Do you want me to tell them?”
Reggie’s face twisted like Bucky Barnes’ at the end of Captain America: Winter Soldier—that part when he really wanted to punch Steve in the face, and then he didn’t—or maybe Professor Quirrell, who couldn’t touch Harry because of his mother’s looove. (For some reason, Archie always thought of the word ‘love’ in Dumbledore’s speech after as Jughead’s voice drawling it in his own particular brand of sarcastic skepticism. It was one of many ways that Jughead had ruined Harry Potter for Archie.)
“Betty Cooper,” Reggie drawled like a Disney villain. “Come to save the day.” His face erupted in an evil grin. “Funny, I didn’t know Freakhead here liked girls.” Stupid, Reggie, Archie thought in wary irritation, he knew as well as any of them that Betty liked Archie…but his eyes were drawn to the look on Betty’s face.
It was an interesting moment. Betty looked just for a split second like she was preparing to charge on Reggie with the rest of them, and then Jughead gave her this look, and the fight seemed to drain out of her. Her hands uncurled stiffly.
“Jughead’s my friend,” she said pointedly, “so I suggest you leave him alone. Also, if you’re imagining that he killed Jason Blossom, you’re even stupider than he thinks. First of all, I’ve known Jughead since kindergarten, and I’ve never once known him to take physical revenge, on anyone.”
Reggie took a breath in to laugh out a snide remark, but Betty cut him off. “Secondly. Try to get in Jughead’s head here—no, seriously, Reggie, stop laughing—the football team is full of bullies, and Jughead’s been hurt by all of them, right? So why would he choose Jason, the one who looked freakishly similar to Jughead’s best friend in the entire world? What if he shot Archie by accident? Jughead’s too smart to go for Jason. No, he’d probably want to kill someone who looked totally different from Archie—say, someone with black hair and dark brown eyes. Someone who teased him almost as much, and as cruelly, as Jason. Someone like…oh, I don’t know…you, Reggie.”
The silence was absolute.
“So if you really think that Jughead’s a murderer…” Betty huffed out a laugh. “You better watch your back.”
Reggie’s smile was frozen in free-fall.
Betty stood there uncomfortably, her arms snaking up to hug her chest. “That’s…it,” she muttered to empty air, before she sat down and made herself as small as possible.
Archie stole a glance at Jughead’s face. It was pale, wary, confused, and a little vulnerable.
The ringing of the school bell shattered the silence, and all of a sudden, everyone was moving. Betty shuffled around in her bag, eyes fixed determinedly anywhere but the opposite side of the room. Jughead, meanwhile, hurried past Archie with his shoulders hunched like prey…or Betty.
For so long, Archie had been the centerpiece of their gang. It had started as just Archie and Jughead, at first, two boys who didn’t have much in common but somehow just got each other anyway. Archie as the protector, Jughead as the emotional janitor who listened to Archie’s problems and wisecracked advice here and there. But Jughead had never been the most emotionally intact person, really, so every once in a while, he’d break down, and Archie had never known how to deal with that.
Enter Betty.
From then on, Archie had been able to wear Jughead down as much as he liked, then send him off to Betty for maintenance, and poof! Good as new. It was a cruel way to think of it, but that was how it had been for a while.
Their friendship had lasted so long because they all needed each other. Archie needed Jughead because Jughead got him in a way few other people did--and, if he was being brutally honest with himself, because he liked the feeling of having someone to protect. Betty needed protecting too: from Cheryl, mostly, who was harder to deal with than Reggie, but not invincible. Betty was always willing to help, always had a smile on her face, and always made Archie feel better. Jughead needed Archie for protection, mostly. Betty needed Jughead…
Well, it was interesting, because a while ago Archie wouldn’t have said that Betty needed Jughead. But when he and Jughead had fought, it had caused a sort of fracture in the triangle. Of course he had missed Jughead. It had never even occurred to him that Betty might miss him too, but lately she’d been a bit more unpredictable, a bit less always there, and a bit…well, it had happened, and Archie couldn’t definitively link that to Jughead’s absence, of course, but it was part of a trend he couldn’t quite place.
“Hey, Archie! Wait for me?” Betty called, running up, her face strangely pale, eyes already moving past him. Archie shot her a lopsided grin which she didn’t notice. “Juggy!” Betty yelled in the direction of the doorway. She grabbed Archie’s hand almost instinctively and started to run, dragging him in her wake. “C’mon,” she murmured to him, “if we hurry, we can catch up.” They’d made it out of the room by now, and Archie could see Jughead’s beanie bobbing through the crowd. “Jug! Juggy?”
Jughead faltered and looked back this time. His eyes read: I am very definitely going to regret this…but, well, I’m only human.
“Juggy!” Betty waved. Jughead’s eyes caught and stuttered to a halt at the sight of her.
He stopped walking.