Chapter Text
Jughead was still working at Pop's when his phone buzzed against his thigh.
He almost ignored it.
Almost.
The last two hours of his shift always dragged, sticky with tiredness and the smell of coffee grounds and fried grease. He was halfway through wiping down a table that didn't really need wiping when he finally reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out.
The screen lit up.
Don't answer #1 is calling.
His thumb hovered.
For a second, he just stared at it, like the name itself might explain why his chest suddenly tightened.
Then, quietly, he exhaled through his nose and accepted the call anyway.
"Jug?" The soft voice almost undid him on the spot. He hadn't heard it in two years and now...
He swallowed, trying to get his voice back.
"Betty? What- What's going on?"
"I- I need your help, Jug."
Jughead glanced at the diner. Four tables full, two at the counter.
Betty on the other side.
"Uh, sure. What do you need?"
"Do you remember that ex I had? Before you?"
"The abusive one? Yeah, of course. You had nightmares about him all the time," Jughead replied, picking up on cleaning the table with a rag.
"He's here."
He paused.
"What do you mean?"
"He's here. In my apartment. I- He came and- and he asked to talk but then he-" Betty stopped before continuing in a quiet whisper. "Jug, he has a knife. I'm scared."
The rag in Jughead's hand stopped moving again. For a second, everything in Pop's felt too loud — the clatter of dishes, the hum of the lights, the low murmur of other people's conversations. Like the world had decided to keep going at full volume while something inside him went completely still.
"Betty," He said, and his voice came out flatter than he meant it to. Controlled. Careful. "Are you locked in somewhere?"
"Yes," She breathed. "Bathroom. I- I pushed the closet in front of it but it's- it's only covering it halfway. I think- He might be able to get in and jump over it if he breaks the door down."
"Okay-" Jughead took a shaky breath, nodding. "Okay. Betty, I want you to call the police now."
"Are you- Are you sure?" She whispered.
"Yes. If you haven't done so, please call them. They'll be able to help you."
"But- you're coming, right? You're not- not leaving me."
"I-" Jughead glanced at the clock for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I'm coming. Where are you?"
"At the apartment. I haven't moved."
"Okay. I'll need about half an hour. You still need to call the police." Jughead said, already abandoning the task of cleaning the table. He walked back to the counter to drop the rag in the sink and the spray bottle next to it. His coworker looked at him while he went to grab his jeans jacket.
"Where- Is everything alright?"
"No," Jughead paused to put the phone between his shoulder and ear to put on his jacket.
"Family thing. I have to go." His coworker frowned slightly, like he was trying to place the urgency in his voice.
"You're still on shift for-"
"I know," Jughead cut in, already slipping one arm into his jacket sleeve. The fabric caught on his wrist for half a second before he forced it through.
"I'll make it up later," He added, not really sure who he was saying it to anymore. He didn't wait for another question and instead walked out of the diner. On the way, he already grabbed his motorcycle keys from his pocket.
Behind him, his coworker called something after him — confused, maybe concerned — but the sound blurred as Jughead mounted his bike.
Betty's breathing stayed in his ear, too close, too fragile.
"I'm on the motorcycle now," He said, voice low but steady, like he was trying to build something solid out of words alone. "So I'm going to need to end the call, okay? Call the police."
A pause. He could hear her inhale on the other end — sharp, unsteady.
"Okay," Betty whispered. "I will."
"I will hurry up. I promise. Thirty minutes, max. I won't let him hurt you again."
"Okay. Thank you." Jughead hesitated for a moment, then ended the call.
Jughead didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he started the bike. The engine roared alive beneath him — sharp, familiar, almost comforting in a way that didn't match the panic tightening his chest. He pulled out of the parking lot too fast, tires biting asphalt hard enough to make a passing car honk.
He didn't look back.
The streets of Riverdale blurred at the edges as he accelerated, headlights stretching into long streaks in his vision. The diner disappeared behind him like it had never been real, like the world had narrowed down to one thing only: getting there.
His grip tightened on the handlebars.
Half an hour, he'd said.
It wasn't enough.
He had to be faster.
What if the guy-
A red light loomed ahead.
Jughead didn't slow.
He cut through it just as a car braked hard in the opposite lane, horn exploding behind him. The sound barely registered. His pulse was louder than everything else now — hammering in his ears, in his throat, in the space behind his eyes where all the worst possibilities kept trying to form.
Betty locked in a bathroom.
A knife.
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"Come on," He muttered to himself, like the bike could hear him. Like the universe could be reasoned with. "Come on, come on..."
Wind tore at his jacket as he pushed faster, the engine climbing higher, vibrating through his bones. The road out of town stretched ahead — too straight, too long, too slow. Every second felt like it was being counted out somewhere behind him.
He took a corner too sharply and the bike skidded slightly before catching again.
A normal part of him — the careful, observant part — would've called it stupid.
That part wasn't driving.
All that mattered was distance collapsing.
Blocks disappearing.
Time shrinking.
When he approached Betty's little compartment complex, he barely took the time to park the motorcycle, not even making sure if he was in the lines of a single spot. With quick steps, he headed for the main door, ringing through the names until someone picked up.
"Yes?" An elderly woman asked.
"Hi, sorry. I- live here and I forgot to bring my keys. Could you buzz me in?"
There was a crackle of static.
Then the old woman sighed.
"Oh. Alright, dear."
A loud buzz sounded through the intercom.
Jughead didn't thank her. The lock clicked and he shoved the door open immediately. Warm hallway air hit him all at once — laundry detergent, old carpet, someone cooking curry.
His boots echoed against the hallway as he crossed the small entry level and headed straight for the stairs.
No waiting for the elevator.
Too slow.
Two steps at a time.
Second floor.
Third.
His lungs started burning halfway up but he barely noticed.
On the fourth floor, he went for their apartment, numbers passing in a blur.
410.
408.
4-
The door stood ajar.
A loud voice was yelling from inside, something banging against the wooden door.
"Betty, I just want to talk! Let me in!"
"Hey," Jughead said in a calm voice, walking inside the apartment. His eyes immediately scanned the surroundings — the place was thrashed, the bathroom door had holes from the knife and the man was standing in front of it while hammering against the door.
At his voice, he turned around to Jughead.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the one she called to get rid of you. Now," Jughead stopped to crack his knuckles. He had the other's attention anyways. "We can do this the easy way and you walk out. Or the other way."
The man stared at him for a second.
Then he laughed.
Not nervous.
Not surprised.
Just amused.
His eyes flicked over Jughead — work uniform, jeans, no weapon.
"You? She called you?"
Jughead didn't answer. He stayed where he was, shoulders loose, hands empty at his sides.
Not because he wasn't scared.
But because he knew.
Knife.
Small apartment.
Betty behind that door.
And if he looked at the bathroom again, he thought he might do something stupid — so he kept his eyes on the guy.
The man tilted the knife once in his hand.
"Get out."
"No."
His smile disappeared.
"This is not your business."
"You made it my business when you showed up here with a knife." The guy scoffed and turned halfway back toward the bathroom.
"Betty, this who you picked? Seriously?"
The bathroom stayed silent.
Jughead took one step forward.
"One last time, leave."
The guy turned fully.
And moved.
Fast.
Jughead only got half a second of warning before the knife came at him. He jumped backward instinctively but not enough. The knife clipped his arm, ripping through his jacket.
Pain ripped hot across his upper arm.
His breath caught.
Not deep.
But enough.
The guy only halted a second before coming again. This time, Jughead moved sideways instead of back.
Knife users expected distance.
His shoulder slammed into the guy's chest and they crashed into the apartment wall hard enough to shake framed pictures loose.
The knife hand hit drywall.
Jughead grabbed his wrist and immediately lodged onto it, trying to grab it free. The guy snarled and drove an elbow straight into his face.
White exploded across his vision and he had to blink the pain away.
Didn't matter.
The knife was still there.
He had to get that away.
Jughead held onto the wrist and twisted while the guy tried to wrench free. With the other hand, he held the guy on the shoulder, pressing him against the wall. Once he gained enough freedom, he drove a knee into the other's stomach, giving him the chance to free the knife. It clattered to the floor and Jughead kicked it with his foot, causing it to slide under the couch.
"You-" The gut quickly regained his posture and directed another punch towards Jughead's face. He barely had the time to pull away but the man used his momentum to grab him. Fingers curled into his collar and he was shoved into the wall.
His shoulders ached but Jughead shoved back.
Not thinking now.
Just movement.
The guy came forward and Jughead caught his shirt, turning both of them around.
And slammed him sideways into the kitchen counter.
Hard.
The guy hit awkwardly.
His head bounced off the edge with a dull sound.
He stumbled.
Jughead didn't wait.
He grabbed both shoulders and shoved again.
The guy lost his footing, hit the floor and stayed there.
For a second Jughead just stood there breathing.
Waiting.
The apartment was suddenly too quiet.
The man groaned once.
Didn't get up.
Jughead stared another second.
Just to be sure.
Then searched through the cupboards until he found rope, using it to tie the guy to the fridge handle. It wouldn't be enough but hopefully slow him down enough to give them (or him) time to react.
"Betty?" He called, walking over to the bathroom and knocking softly with his good hand. The other arm felt a little tingly.
"Betts, it's me. The- He's knocked out. You're safe now. I've got you. Open the door," Jughead said, keeping his voice soft as he braced against the wall, taking the second to look at his left arm. The sleeve had ripped, the jeans darkened from blood.
Dammit.
He liked that jacket.
Behind him, the man stayed slumped against the fridge, tied badly but tied enough. Jughead kept half an eye on him anyway.
Then, a tiny sound.
Not words.
A shaky inhale.
Jughead softened his voice.
"Betty?"
"...Is he really gone?"
Jughead looked over his shoulder.
The guy was still out.
"Yeah, he's not getting to you," Jughead confirmed, fingers tracing one of the holes in the wood. "I'm here now. It's okay. Just open the door."
"O-Okay, but I- I need to get the closet out of the way. Give me a moment." Jughead leaned his forehead lightly against the wall.
"Do that. There's no rush."
Inside, he heard movement.
A scrape.
Then another.
Heavy enough that she was pushing with her whole weight.
His eyes dropped to the holes in the bathroom door.
Jagged punctures in the wood.
Too many.
His jaw tightened.
Inside came another dragging sound and then a quiet frustrated noise. Jughead used the time to glance back at the man — still passed out, still out cold, still unmoving. He needed to make sure that he wouldn't make more problems.
His eyes eventually drifted down to his arm. It was changing from the stinging pain to pulsing heat, crawling all the way down to his elbow. Maybe it was just the blood flowing. He was starting to drip on the floor despite his best efforts.
His fingers tingled.
He flexed them.
Still worked.
Then he would be fine, he thought.
Inside the bathroom came a final shove, followed by the noise of something toppling over.
Jughead straightened immediately.
"Betty?"
A sharp inhale.
"I'm okay."
He exhaled quietly.
A second later, the lock clicked and Jughead immediately straightened again, a hand reaching out to rest on the handle.
"Betts, can I come in?"
For a moment, she didn't reply. Then, slowly, the doorknob turned and she opened the door a crack. Just enough, until her eye appeared and found him immediately. Her eyes looked red, cheeks wet from tears.
Her eyes stayed on his face first, just checking that it was truly him before slowly moving over his body. When they landed on his left arm, her eyes widened. All caution seemed to be forgotten as she opened the door further.
"Juggy, you're bleeding!" She exclaimed, grabbing his other arm to pull him inside the room. Jughead was about to protest, he had to keep eye on the guy, but-
Juggy.
Juggy.
Juggy.
It had been forever since someone called him that.
Since she called him that.
He was pulled and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.
"Betts, I- gotta-" He craned his neck to keep the guy in his line of side while Betty went to open the closet she had just pulled away from the door, pulling out supplies.
Disinfectant.
Cotton balls.
Bandages.
Jughead stayed half-turned on the edge of the bathtub, body tense even as Betty knelt in front of him. His arm was starting to feel less like pain and more like something distant and buzzing, like it didn't fully belong to him anymore.
That part bothered him more than the blood.
"Betts," He started again, voice low. "I need to-"
"I know," She cut in immediately, not looking up. "Just- a moment. We have to stop the bleeding."
She was fast.
Too fast.
Hands shaking, but practiced in a way that made something twist in his chest. Cotton. Disinfectant. Bandage.
Like she'd done this before.
The thought passed before he could stop it.
She pressed cotton to his arm.
The sting hit late.
Jughead sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, shoulders tightening.
"Sorry," She whispered instantly and he shrugged.
"It's fine."
It wasn't.
Her hands hesitated for half a second at the sound of his voice, then she kept going.
Clean.
Press.
Wrap.
Jughead's eyes kept flicking past her shoulder.
Toward the bathroom doorway.
Toward the apartment.
Toward where the guy was still slumped, tied badly but still there.
Still a problem.
Still-
His jaw tightened.
"Betty," He said again, softer this time but sharper underneath. "You shouldn't be in here."
Her hands paused mid-wrap.
She looked up.
For a second, she didn't say anything.
Then, "I'm already in here, and you can't make me leave you here alone, because I'm not."
Jughead's eyes held hers.
That landed heavier than anything else in the room.
Outside the bathroom, something creaked and Jughead's head snapped up instantly. His whole body shifted, ready before thought caught up.
Betty followed his gaze.
The rope.
The fridge.
The man.
Still down.
But not entirely out cold anymore.
Her breathing hitched.
Jughead didn't move away from her, but his voice dropped.
"Stay behind me."
Betty didn't argue.
That alone made something in him settle and tighten at the same time.
He pushed himself up from the bathtub edge despite the pull in his arm.
"Police should be close," He muttered, mostly to himself now. Then louder, controlled: "If he moves, don't come out."
Betty's fingers caught the hem of his jacket for a second.
Not stopping him.
Just holding on.
"Jug," She said quietly and he looked back.
Her eyes flicked to his bruised face.
Then his arm again.
Then back to his eyes.
"...Don't do anything stupid."
A beat.
His mouth twitched, almost humorless.
"Kind of late for that."
But he stepped out of the bathroom anyway.
Between her and the apartment.
Between her and everything else.
How had he gotten into this situation?
"If you're awake, I'd suggest you to just stay where you are and think about what you did. Police should be here any moment and it won't help your case if you resists. Besides, you've already lost once."
The man scoffed, eyes moving slowly toward him and blinking against the light.
"You're a bastard."
"Maybe. But at least I don't go and- try whatever you wanted to do." The man let out a rough, humorless sound through his nose, shifting against the fridge.
"Whatever I wanted to do?" He echoed. "You don't even know-"
Jughead cut him off immediately.
"I know enough."
His voice wasn't raised. It didn't need to be.
That was the difference.
The man's eyes narrowed, trying to focus properly now, like the blow to his head was still settling in. His shoulders flexed once against the rope.
Jughead noticed it.
"Don't," Jughead said quietly, without breaking eye contact.
The man huffed.
"You think this is over? You think tying me up fixes anything?"
Jughead stepped half a pace forward.
Careful. Controlled.
"Fixes her being alive in a locked bathroom instead of-" He stopped himself, jaw tightening briefly, then continued colder, "whatever you had planned."
That landed differently.
The man's expression flickered.
Anger first.
Then something else underneath it — deflection trying to reassert itself.
"You don't know what she-"
"I know she called me because she was scared, and that's all I need to know," Jughead said flatly before taking a step forward. "You're going to wait for the police. That's it. That's your option."
The man's jaw worked, testing the rope again.
"Or what?" He spat.
"Or nothing. Because you're already on the floor." He took another step forward, almost by him and crouched a bit. "And I can hit you faster than you can free yourself. You've lost. So give up."
Behind him, Betty made a small sound — uncertain, shaken — and the man immediately tried to look for her in the bathroom, though Jughead stepped in his line of sight.
"Nope. You're done for. I've just told you. Don't you listen?"
The man's eyes flicked back to him.
Slowly.
Measuring again, like he was trying to find the angle where this stopped being true.
"Done for?" The man repeated under his breath, then gave a short laugh. "You really think you're in control here?"
Jughead didn't answer immediately.
He crouched a little more.
"I don't think. I know what happens next."
The man's smile twitched.
"That's cute."
Behind Jughead, Betty shifted again — he heard it in the fabric, the small movement she tried to hide.
Jughead didn't turn around.
"Don't," He said again, softer this time — but aimed at her, not him. "Wait until I come to you."
The man noticed that.
Of course he did.
His gaze sharpened, trying to angle past Jughead's shoulder again but Jughead moved with him immediately, blocking it without thinking.
"Nope," He repeated, firmer now. "You don't get to look at her. You don't get to talk to her. You don't get anything."
A pause.
Then the man's expression shifted — anger cracking into something messier.
"You think you're her savior?" He muttered.
Jughead exhaled once through his nose.
Not amused.
Not rising to it.
Just... done with the words.
"I think you broke into someone's home with a knife. Everything after that is just consequences."
The man tested the rope again — harder this time. Jughead saw it immediately and, this time, his hand moved without hesitation. He grabbed the fridge door and slammed it shut against the man's shoulder — not enough to injure further, but enough to stop the movement.
A dull impact.
The man hissed.
Jughead's voice dropped.
"Stop."
Not loud.
The kind of word that didn't invite discussion.
Jughead stayed crouched there for a second longer, eyes locked on the man, then he slowly straightened again, positioning himself exactly where he had been before — between the bathroom and everything else.
And now, finally, the man stopped pulling against the rope.
The two remained in the same position until heavy boots sounded on the stairwell. Not long after, two officers entered the apartment.
"Police!" One said as he breached the threshold, eyes immediately taking in the scene.
The two men at the fridge, one on the floor.
A stabbed bathroom door.
Absolute silence.
"Sir," The first officer said, stepping forward. "Step away from him. We've got it now."
Jughead didn't move right away.
His eyes stayed on the man for half a second longer than necessary.
Just to be sure.
Then he slowly straightened.
"I'm not holding him," Jughead said flatly. "He's restrained."
"We'll take it from here."
More footsteps now. Radio static. Commands overlapping. Jughead only stepped back when four hands grabbed the man on the fridge.
Handcuffs followed as soon as they cut the rope.
The man resisted once, weakly.
Not enough.
Within moments, he was hauled upward and the first two officers carried him out of the room. Jughead stayed in their line of sight, making sure that the man couldn't get a look of the bathroom — all the way until he disappeared in the hallway.
Four new officers entered but Jughead only made sure they were all wearing uniform before he walked over to the bathroom.
"Betty, it's okay, you can come out. He's gone," He said gently and the door opened further again. Betty barely checked to see if it was him before she dove toward him. Her arms wrapped around him so tightly, he had to groan before his arms gently wrapped around her.
"You're safe now. You're safe, Betts. It's over," Jughead whispered, nuzzling against her. "It's okay."
"Mommy?" Something small asked.
The word didn't register at first.
Jughead's brain simply didn't place it in the room, at least not until Betty turned.
And everything reoriented itself at once.
Mommy.
A child.
Betty's child.
His eyes wandered to where Betty crouched in front of the bathroom. And there, at the door, holding the splintered wood, stood a small girl. She was barefooted, standing half-hidden behind the door in only a nightgown. Her black hair was messy, green eyes wide.
"Mommy?" She asked again, looking at Jughead — a strange man — standing behind her. "Is... I got bored from hiding."
Betty let out a relieved sob, opening her arms while suppressing the tears. The girl immediately went toward her and curled up in her lap.
"It's okay, baby. You did amazing. So amazing," She whispered, kissing the girl's head and holding her tightly.
Jughead could still only stare.
A child.
Betty's child.
"Betty, did..." He swallowed, still watching the interaction. "Did you and Archie have a child?"
His voice barely got through, but Betty heard him anyways. Her head immediately turned to face him.
The child was definitely over one, maybe even two, and right after they broke up, she had gotten together with Archie, so...
"No, I-" Betty swallowed, glancing at the girl, him, the girl again and then him. "No, not... his. She's..."
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Another officer stepped in gently, clearing his throat.
The moment the officer spoke, the room seemed to snap back into motion, like reality remembered it was supposed to keep going.
Betty tightened her hold on the child immediately, one hand instinctively pulling the girl toward her, as if having to shield her.
"It's alright," The officer said quickly, softer now. "We just need to confirm everyone's safe for now, and get medical on scene."
Jughead barely registered him.
His eyes stayed on Betty.
On the way her sentence had broken.
No, not... his.
Not Archie's.
Not-
His thoughts stalled there, refusing to complete the rest on their own.
The officer glanced between them, clearly catching the tension but not pushing it.
"Sir," He said, gently resting a hand on Jughead's right shoulder. The touch finally got him to snap out of it.
"What? Sorry, I-" His eyes glanced to the child again.
"Are you alright?" The officer repeated and Jughead hummed absentmindedly.
"Jug..." Betty whispered, eyes landing on his arm again. The bandage was red, but it didn't seep through yet. He glanced at it too, as if just remembering and instinctively flexing his fingers again.
Still worked.
Hurt, but worked.
"Oh. Yeah. That. I'm fine, it's just- a cut."
The officer didn't look convinced.
"Sir," He said more firmly now, "you're bleeding through a bandage. Sit down before you pass out on me."
Jughead almost scoffed at that.
Almost.
But when he shifted his weight, the room tilted slightly — just enough to remind him his body had been operating on adrenaline and stubbornness alone for the last... however long it had been.
So he stopped arguing.
Mostly.
"I'm not passing out," He muttered anyway. Betty let out a shaky sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"You've literally dripped on the floor," She said, gesturing vaguely toward his red arm and the blood on the floor.
Jughead glanced down at it.
Oh.
Yeah.
That was... more blood than he thought.
He blinked once.
"Okay," He corrected mildly. "Maybe a little passing out." The officer immediately acted on it and pulled over a chair, so he could sit down. "Sit. Now."
Jughead allowed it this time.
Not because he agreed.
Because his legs had stopped negotiating.
He lowered himself onto the chair with a slow exhale, bracing his forearm against his knee as if that would help him keep everything in place.
His gaze drifted again — almost against his will — toward Betty and the child.
Betty was still holding her tightly.
Still watching him.
Like she was trying to make sure he didn't disappear too.
The child peeked over her shoulder again, curious now instead of afraid. At first she glanced at the officers, then toward him. After meeting her eyes, he smiled softly.
"Hey," He said, softer now, as he lifted his right hand to wave at her. The girl hesitated before pulling away enough to wave back.
"Mommy, who's that?"
Betty's breath caught at the question.
For a second, she didn't answer. Not because she didn't know what to say — but because there were suddenly too many answers fighting for space in her throat.
She tightened her hold on her daughter instinctively, then glanced toward Jughead.
He was sitting now.
A little paler.
Still bleeding through the bandage.
Still trying — absurdly — to look like he wasn't hanging on by sheer willpower and spite.
Betty looked back down at her daughter and smoothed a hand over her hair.
"That's..." She started before stopping again. "That's... someone who helped us."
The child tilted her head slightly, still watching Jughead, who didn't move much past trying to control his breathing now.
The child shifted a little in Betty's arms.
"...Is he nice?" She asked softly and Betty chuckled softly.
"Yeah, he's nice."
Even with blood on his arm and a bruise under his eye.
The child studied him a moment longer, then gave a small nod.
"Okay," She whispered before wiggling out of Betty's grasp. Betty was already reaching for her when she noticed that the girl walked over to Jughead.
A few steps before him, she stopped.
"Thank you."
Jughead inhaled before smiling softly at her.
"You're welcome." The girl giggled before running back to Betty.
"Can we play another game now?" Betty blinked at her daughter like she'd missed a step in reality.
"Sweetheart," She said softly, still half reaching as if expecting her to change direction mid-step. "Maybe not right now."
The child didn't seem bothered by that answer at all. She just bounced slightly on her feet, already moving on emotionally in the way only a two-year-old could.
"Later?" She asked hopefully and Betty let out a small, broken laugh.
"Yes. Later."
"Okay," The child declared, satisfied, and immediately turned her attention back to something else entirely — like violence, strangers, and knives had simply been one chapter that was now over.