Work Text:
Betty returns from the kitchen with an apologetic look on her face, cell phone in hand. “That was my mom. She says they’ve issued a tornado watch until 1 a.m.,” she says. “So it looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”
Archie bolts upright from his seat on the sofa. “Oh my god. This entire apartment is windows!”
“It’s a watch, Archie, not a warning,” Jughead drawls from the other end of the couch. “They do this practically every time it rains.”
“Fret not, Archiekins,” Veronica agrees, waving a hand dismissively. “Even if there was a tornado, these windows are made with one hundred percent weather-proof glass.”
Jughead’s pretty sure that’s not actually a thing, but – in a rare display of restraint – he remains silent. It’s not like he’s about to suggest they say fuck it and leave the comfortable enclave of the Pembrooke. It beats sleeping in a damp closet at the high school, anyway.
Betty drops onto the sofa beside him, a small, worried frown still creasing her forehead, and – after glancing around to make sure no one is looking – he lays a tentative hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be fine,” he says, keeping his voice low enough that only she can hear.
“I know.” Her fingers brush against his hand, and a smattering of butterflies dance through his stomach. “I just hate not knowing where Polly is when there’s something like this going on.”
He knows the feeling well – it was what he’d experienced too many times as a kid, on stormy nights when his father’s absence had loomed even more ominously than it usually did.
“She’ll be okay,” he says, hoping the words don’t sound as empty as they feel.
“This is great,” Kevin declares. He stands up from the velvet chaise where he’s been draped for the last hour, rubbing his hands together. “We totally have enough time for Settlers of Catan now.”
His suggestion is met with a chorus of groans. “I’d rather jump into the tornado,” Archie says.
“I don’t like what you’re thinking, Kevin, but I like how you’re thinking,” Veronica chimes in. “We need an activity. And I know just the thing.”
With a coy smile and a dramatic turn on her heel, she marches from the room, disappearing down one of the penthouse suite’s many hallways.
Kevin sighs, his shoulders slumping. “She’s going to bring up the whole séance thing again, isn’t she?”
“Yep,” say the others in unison.
Veronica returns moments later with a velvety red cloth draped over some sort of rounded object she holds in her hands. “I propose…a séance!” she cries, pulling the cloth away with a flourish to reveal the crystal ball beneath.
Of course Veronica owns a crystal ball.
“Woo.” Kevin pumps one fist half-heartedly.
“V,” Betty begins gently, “we’ve been through this. Ghosts don’t exist –”
“—and if they do exist, we shouldn’t fuck with them,” Archie cuts in solemnly.
Betty shoots Archie an incredulous look, and it’s all Jughead can do to hold in his laugh.
“Right. But more importantly, they don’t exist.”
“But even if they do,” Archie presses on, “Ronnie didn’t know Jason. So he might not want to talk to her anyway.”
“Okay, yes, but that is irrelevant because they don’t exist –”
“Look.” Veronica places the crystal ball gently onto the oval-shaped coffee table, and kneels before it, looking up at her friends, who are conveniently already formed in a half-circle around her. “I get it. The unknown is scary! And for non-believers, it seems like a waste of time.” She nods at Betty. “But what have we got to lose? If there’s no such thing as ghosts, nothing happens. And if something does happen? Maybe we’re one step closer to finding a killer.”
She tilts her head slightly, meeting each of their gazes one by one with wide, hopeful eyes. “Doesn’t the possible reward outweigh the ever-so-negligible risk?”
The room is silent for a beat, and then Kevin plops onto the ground beside her. “You got me. I’m in.”
Betty rolls her eyes. “This is ridiculous.”
Archie frowns, scratching at the back of his neck as he eyes the crystal ball with suspicion. “I don’t know, guys. I’ve seen What Lies Beneath. This stuff doesn’t end well.”
“So it’s two to two,” Veronica says primly. “Jughead, you’re the tiebreaker.”
Jughead shrugs. “Let’s do it.”
Betty leans away from his side, turning to face him in shock. “Juggie!”
“It’s a classic set piece,” he argues. “What if I want to write about one someday?”
“You’ll be writing about this one in your novel, because it’s how we’re going to solve Jason Blossom’s murder,” Veronica says confidently. “Now let’s make this place spirit-friendly.”
Betty and Jughead are tasked with gathering as many tea lights as they can carry from the storage closet back by the master bedroom. Jughead trails after her down the dimly lit hallway, brushing his fingers against the back of her hand when they stop before the closet door.
“Hey,” he says softly, “is this okay? If you really don’t want to do it, we don’t have to.”
“It’s fine,” Betty sighs. “I just think it’s stupid.”
Jughead suspects that there’s more to her reaction than her admirably empirical mindset, but he doesn’t press any further. He’s not sure that they’re there yet, at the place where he can push her to open up without pushing her away. They haven’t even really talked about the kiss yet, though he’s been playing it over and over again in his mind – the soft heat of her mouth, the light pressure of her fingertips against his chest – as though forgetting a single tiny detail about their moment together might make the whole thing dissolve into dust, like it had never even happened.
“You’re not wrong,” he says lightly.
“When I was eight, my grandma died, and Polly and I tried to contact her on a Ouija board,” Betty says, pulling the closet open. “It was so obviously just Polly trying to screw with me.”
Jughead raises an eyebrow, accepting an open box of tea lights that she pulls from one of the lower shelves. “Oh yeah? What’d it say?”
Betty snorts. “Just your usual b.s. – Are you our grandma, yes. Are you in heaven, yes. Polly asked it who I was going to marry and it just said the number three.” She meets Jughead’s eyes for a beat. “That was Archie’s number in pee wee football.”
His stomach twists unpleasantly. Another thing they hadn’t talked about: whether their “moment” meant she was officially over her feelings for Archie. “Oh.”
“Like I said. Stupid. And then my dad completely freaked out when he found us, anyway.” She pulls another mostly-full box of candles out of the closet. “Think this is enough?”
It takes Veronica another twenty minutes or so to arrange the lighting to her satisfaction, and then they’re taking their seats around the coffee table, each resting comfortably on a jewel-toned satin cushion. (“I’ve been dying to use these,” she’d told Kevin with a near-manic gleam in her eye, leading Jughead to believe these were séance-specific satin cushions, and not the everyday satin cushions rich people just kept around for any old occasion.)
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she begins. “I, Veronica Cecilia Lodge, will be your guide through the spirit realm.”
“Um, just a sec,” Kevin interrupts. “Are you sure you should be the medium? ‘Cause Archie’s right, you never met Jason. He might just be like, ‘who’s this bitch?’”
“Mediums commune with unknown spirits all the time, Kevin,” Veronica replies testily. “And I think that Jason will see a kindred soul in my appreciation for the finer things.”
“Okay,” Kevin concedes, though he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Why, do you want to do it?”
“No no. Go ahead.”
“Okay.” She clears her throat. “As I was saying. I, Veronica, will be your guide through the spirit realm. Now please join hands.”
Jughead clasps hands with Archie to his left, Betty to his right. Archie’s palm already feels sweaty. “Gross, Arch,” he mutters.
“Sorry,” Archie mutters back.
“Spirits, we come to you tonight as seekers of truth. As seekers of justice. We ask that you protect us from lost souls who wish to deceive us and bring us harm. Our aim is only to learn the truth about the tragic events that ended young Jason Blossom’s life so that we may bring closure to his loved ones…and vengeance upon his killer.”
Betty leans into Jughead, her warm breath tickling his ear. “She’s definitely practiced this before.”
Jughead suppresses a smile as best he can, and squeezes her hand.
“Jason, we gather here tonight in the hope that we receive a sign of your presence. Please feel welcome in our circle, and join us when you feel ready.”
“But don’t take too long, because Bill Hader is hosting SNL tonight, and I love that guy,” Archie adds.
Jughead feels Archie’s hand jerk slightly to his left, and hears a soft ow: Veronica’s definitely just kicked him under the table.
“Actually, take your time,” Archie amends. “No rush. I can watch it on Hulu.”
“Jason, if you’re here, give us a sign,” Veronica intones.
The circle falls silent, the only sound that of the rain lashing against the Lodge’s weather-proof windows.
“Well, I guess he’s not here,” Betty says. Jughead snickers.
“Maybe that’s because someone in the circle is too closed-minded to let him in,” Veronica replies loftily.
“Ladies,” Kevin says, “let’s just give Jason a moment, alright? He’s probably a little surprised that the first person to try and contact him isn’t Cheryl, covered in pig’s blood or whatever.”
“Maybe we should invite Cheryl,” says Archie.
“No,” says everyone else.
“Jason, we love Cheryl,” Veronica says, her eyes scanning the room as though she might actually see him floating vaguely around the kitchen island. “We just think this is information best given to her second-hand, so she isn’t…emotionally overwhelmed.”
Kevin nods sagely. “She might not be able to handle it. Might overwhelm you with her emotions.”
Veronica shoots him a glare. “Thanks for the mansplanation, Kev, but that’s literally what I just said.”
“I’m just putting it into the terms Jason will understand best, Veronica.”
“Guys, shut up,” Archie says abruptly. “I think I heard something.”
Jughead feels Betty tense up beside him. Interesting, he thinks.
“What did you hear, Archie?” Veronica asks softly.
“Like a…kind of scraping noise, I guess? From the kitchen.”
“Okay, maybe that’s something! Maybe he’s trying to move a spatula.”
“Or a knife,” Jughead points out. “To kill us all.”
Now it’s Archie’s turn to glare. “Don’t joke about that, man.”
“Jason,” Veronica calls out, as though he’s actually in the kitchen and might not hear her from the adjacent room, “if you’re with us, will you move a spatula to give us a sign?”
By Jughead’s estimate, there’s about thirty seconds of dead silence.
And then the power goes out.
“Holy shit,” Archie exclaims, jerking in his seat – but it’s Betty’s hand that clenches Jughead’s the tightest.
“Don’t move,” Veronica warns, her voice strained. “We can’t break the circle. Jason – was that you? Did you turn off the power?”
Nothing.
“It’s okay if you did,” she continues, her words taking on a soothing tone. “We won’t be angry. We just want to talk to you. We want to help. We want to find out who killed you, so he can rot in jail for the rest of his life. Or her life. I mean, it's 2018, women can be murderers.”
“It’s just the storm,” Betty says in a low voice. “Right Jug?”
“Um – yeah.” He rubs his thumb over her palm in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “It’s just the storm.”
“Jason?” Veronica calls out again, and the moment his name leaves her lips, one of the windows in the living room swings open, a torrent of rainfall streaming into the room.
“Holy fuck,” Archie shouts, jumping to his feet. His clammy hand slips out of Jughead’s, and Veronica moans in disappointment.
“Archie, you broke the circle! Now we have to start all over again.”
The power comes back on, the digital clock on the microwave blinking 00:00 at them mockingly in its bright green light.
Archie shakes his head, eyes wide, hair messy from where he’d run his fingers through it in distress. “You guys can do it without me. I’m done.”
Veronica looks at the rest of them pleadingly. “Please? That was totally Jason! We were so close!”
“I’m with Archie,” Kevin says. He stands up and walks over to the window, pushing it shut. “It looks like the latch on this thing is broken. Was it broken before?”
“I don’t know.” Veronica slumps forward onto the coffee table, resting her head on her arms. “You guys are so lame.”
Jughead turns to Betty, whose hand is still clasped firmly in his own. Her eyes are still on the window, the faintest hint of a tremble in her chin. “Hey,” he says, tugging her hand closer. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes snap to meet his, and for a moment so fleeting he almost wonders if he imagined it, he thinks he sees pure terror in them.
“Yeah,” she says briskly, and pulls her hand away. “I’m fine. I’m going to use the bathroom.”
She’s up and on her feet before he can say another word.
“Ronnie, where’s the remote?” Archie asks. “I don’t wanna miss the monologue.”
The storm lets up just a little past midnight, and Betty’s mother texts the moment the tornado watch has been lifted: come home.
“Smithers can drive you,” Veronica says, pulling out her phone, but Betty shakes her head.
“It’s not raining anymore, I can walk.” She gives Jughead a meaningful look, and he scrambles to his feet.
“Uh, yeah, me too. I’m really tired. I’m gonna head out.”
Veronica and Kevin eye them suspiciously as they head for the door (Archie’s too enraptured by a Stefon skit to notice), but the elevator comes before any prying questions can be asked.
After a block or two of comfortable silence and the occasional bump of arms, Jughead takes Betty’s hand. A wave of relief crashes over him when she weaves her fingers through his own.
“So, I don’t wanna pry or anything,” he says slowly. “But I feel like I have to ask one more time…were you okay back there?”
Betty is quiet for a moment. “I was a little freaked out,” she admits.
He bumps his elbow against hers playfully. “Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”
“I don’t. But…I did? Maybe I do.” She sighs. “Remember what I told you about the Ouija board? About my grandma, and everything?”
“Of course.”
“Well…I really wanted it to be true. Not just because of the marrying-Archie thing. I wanted to believe that my grandma was in heaven.” Betty pauses. “She was really sick before she died, and it just…it made me feel better, to think that she was happy. So I kind of convinced myself it was all real. And my dad had such a strong reaction to finding us with the Ouija board that it wasn’t even that hard to believe it.”
Jughead squeezes her hand, unsure what to say. He’d stopped believing in heaven – or hell, or anything – a while ago. But he knows that’s not what Betty needs to hear right now.
“I’m sorry about your grandma,” he says softly.
Betty gives him a small smile. “Thanks.”
They turn the corner onto Betty’s street, her house coming into view. “So what changed?” he asks. “You were giving Veronica and Archie so much shit about believing in ghosts.”
“I guess I just don’t need to believe it anymore,” she says, shrugging a little. “I know my grandma was a good person, and wherever she is, she’s okay. And everything that’s going on now…I know we’re gonna find Polly, Jug. And I know we’ll find Jason’s killer.” She looks up at him, her eyes shining in the light of the streetlamps. “It’s not going to be because a ghost magically tells us the answer. We’re going to work really hard, and it might even get kind of scary, but…we’ll figure it out. And it’ll be worth it.”
She flexes her fingers where they’re entwined with his, tightening her grip on his hand. “Plus I definitely don’t want to marry Archie anymore,” she laughs. Jughead’s heart leaps in his chest.
The lights are on in the house when they reach her front step a moment later, but Jughead is aching so badly to kiss her again that he doesn’t even care that her mother is probably watching them from behind one of the bright, floral curtains. They stop before the front door, face to face, and he lets his gaze drift down to her lips before lifting them to meet her eyes again, seeking permission.
Betty’s smile is all the answer he needs.