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9-1-1 (bughead)

An echoing crash followed as the ladder's own journey to the ground ended nearby.

A wheeze brushed by her ear. "Uh... you okay?"

The sticky substance was plastering to her face, her whole back was aching from the impact, but she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from her chest.

"You were right. You are skilled at catching maidens."

"Oh my god, Betty."

The crash was apparently obnoxiously loud enough that Mr. Svenson's had heard its finale and he burst into the room nearly seconds later.

Betty had not found any Riverdale artifacts but instead, a recently hidden box of expired art supplies, which, Mr. Svenson angrily decided, was mistakenly mislabeled and stored in the wrong space by one of his colleagues.

Jughead was leading her out into the hallway as she desperately scrubbed the mix of ink and paint from her eyes, and definitely not any tears brewing in their corners. Her exhaustion and frustration was choking around her pure embarrassment especially after she assured Mr. Svenson her confidence that they would carefully execute their search without any trouble.

Now as her hair dyed with a multitude of colors and her thick pink sweater stained with an ugly arrangement of black, she could feel her lip quiver at the new mess she had left everyone in, including herself. She was humiliated.

A warm touch to her hand broke her away.

"Betty."

Her eyes moved up to meet Jughead's as he unraveled her fingers from the skin of her palm. She lowered her head to inspect the damage, though he never removed his hand only shifting to hold her wrist.

She hadn't broken the skin.

"Hey," his word drew into a breath "no real damage, right? If anything this will finally make Riverdale High move away from an art class based solely in expired paints."

"Right," she leaned into him and his words.

The moment was almost broken as Mr. Svenson appeared before them, with a mop now in hand.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Svenson..." she began. "You were already staying over-time for us..."

"Don't feel bad about it missy, this is the fifth time this school year I've had something fall on me." The short and grey haired man's voice was raspy and edged with his years. He was a comforting staple of the school, as Pop's diner was to the heart of the town. "I'm just glad the only thing broken was the ladder! I'll be through with cleaning with no time lost."

Betty sighed through a smile. If both Mr. Svenson and Jughead said it was fine, then it was fine. She was fine.

Or would be, as soon as she scrubbed off the horrible stench and stain covering her.

"Sure you don't need any help?" Jughead offered peering towards the storage room and the probable flood of paint that awaited the man.

Svenson was shaking his head at the thought of assistance. "No, no, you kids don't worry about that. It's a Friday night; I don't want you two ruining a potential date scrubbing down filthy school floors." He grabbed Jughead's wrist and turned it upwards to place something in his palm. "Get washed up and then get your butts outta here!"

"A key?" Betty questioned now inspecting the silver item between Jughead's fingers.

"The girls' showers are still being repaired, but it's after school hours, so I'm calling the shots, not Weatherbee!" The old man cackled. "I figure you'd wanna get that paint outta you're hair before walking downtown."