6k reads wooooooowwwweeeee thank you sooo much. Any ways read on babes 😉
"Snake's Serpent jacket to be exact," Betty said, holding up the crumpled jacket she'd found in the closet. "Alice Cooper is wearing a Southside Serpent's jackets." Every Serpent's jacket was a little different, so she could easily tell that this one belonged to Snake. The emblem on the back was a green, straight-as-an-arrow snake, the pointed head of it almost coming up to the collar of the jacket. The end of the snake's tail jutted out, almost like a sword handle.
"Holy shit," Jughead said.
"Language," Betty said with a smile, trying to find humor in this, something to ground her when her mind had to be spinning with a thousand thoughts.
Jughead peered over Betty's shoulder, studying the picture. "Is she looking lovingly into Snake's eyes?"
"Yes," Betty said.
Alice Cooper's blond hair was done up in a high, tight ponytail just like Betty wore it. Snake was in front of Alice on the motorcycle, and her arms were around his waist. His hair was short like Eric's, slicked back from his youthful, scruff-free face. Alice's gaze was tilted up as she stared into his eyes. Betty Cooper was a carbon copy of her mother, especially with her wearing a similar Southside jacket. Jughead would never comment on that fact because he knew she hated to be compared to Alice.
"I don't think I've ever seen her look at my dad that way," Betty admitted. Betty reached up and pulled the elastic band from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.
"That's the way you look at me," Jughead said, smirking at her.
She nudged him with her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe my mother is wearing a Serpent jacket." Her mouth was turned down in a grimace.
"She might say the same thing about you," Jughead said, but he was smiling.
She started to pull it off, but Jughead stopped her. "No, leave it on," he said. "You look hot in it."
"So do you," Betty admitted. She kissed him on the cheek before following him out of the trailer. "We need to talk to my mom about this. I can't believe she was a Serpent and never told me."
"Are you really that surprised?" Jughead asked. "Alice Cooper is the queen of secrets."
"True," Betty replied. "But she'll tell me the truth. I think she's finally come to trust me."
"We'll go talk to her in a few hours. First we need to find Eric. This business with Snake makes me think that the Serpents are somehow tangled up in this. And I don't like that at all."
Betty looked him over, and then said, "The Serpents want you to be their leader," she said.
"I already told you not to worry about that," Jughead said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
She shook her head. "I'm not worried about that. Actually I think you should do it. Think of all the intel the Serpents would tell you just out of loyalty."
"So you want me to not only join the Serpents, but to also rule in FP's place?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, unable to believe that's what she wanted.
"Yes," she stated. "The Serpents aren't the bad guys, Jug."
"I know. I'll think about it," Jughead said. Did his sweet, cheerleader girlfriend really just suggest he be the leader of a gang? As odd as it seemed, Betty might have a point. They could get to the bottom of this mystery easier with the Serpents backing them. The Serpents had something to do with Goldhead, and he could find out a lot with their help. And he'd be lying if he didn't admit he'd always longed to be looked up to, to be a leader.
"Let's look for Eric and that picture right now," Jughead said.
"Any idea where he'd be?" Betty asked.
"The Whyte Wyrm."
Without question, Betty followed him out to the truck. That's how it was with her. If Betty Cooper believed in you, her faith never wavered. If Betty loved you, you were family. He'd never had that before, an unconditional love. Before Betty, he thought it was just a sentiment, a fantasy only romanticized in books, but Betty had brought everything good and bright into his life, so of course she loved him without question, without obligation without fear.
Jughead pulled into a parking space in front of the Whyte Worm. The lines in the parking lot were all but faded, a pothole every few feet. Weeds poked through the cracks of the sidewalk. The exterior paint had warped and peeled off decades ago. Crooked, the sign hung from only one hook, dangling in the wind. But the clientele wasn't here for the ambiance.
Jughead had spent too many hours sitting in the cab of FP's truck, engine shut off, windows cracked, staring at the rundown building that housed the Whyte Wyrm. When he was a kid, FP would say he needed to run into the bar for a quick second, but it'd be hours before Jughead would give up on waiting and go through the front doors. He'd sneak past the bouncers and find FP passed out, slumped over the end of the bar, gin and tonic still in his hand. Jughead would wake FP up enough so that he could help him to the basement, where he would tuck his dad into a pullout couch in the office. Jughead would sit up with him all night, monitoring his vitals until FP would wake up the next morning. Once Jughead turned twelve, FP taught him to drive during one of his bouts of sobriety. At the time Jughead thought it had been a father/son bonding experience, but in reality it had been so Jughead could drive FP home when his father was too trashed to drive.
Jughead hated the Whyte Wyrm. It was one of the reasons he refused to come here with Archie and Kevin came to investigate who might have beat up Moose. He didn't want to step inside then, and he sure as hell didn't want to go on there now. He had often wished one of the drunks would drop a cigarette into spilled vodka, and the dump would burn to the ground. He wasn't that lucky.
There was no use in avoiding it anymore, so Jughead, went around to Betty's door, opening it for her. "There's a back entrance that's always unlocked," Jughead said, taking her hand and bringing her along beside him.
At the back of the building, in between the overflowing dumpster and a pile of broken wooden crates, was the door that lead to the basement of the Whyte Wyrm. After yanking opened the warped door, Jughead pulled on the string attached to the bare bulb overhead. For just an instant, the stairwell bloomed with brightness, only to be followed by a burst of glass, the bulb blowing out. They were cast into utter darkness. Betty scrambled for his hand, eventually finding and gripping his fingers so tightly that the blood supply was cut off. He could hear her hurried, shallow breathing.
"It's okay," Jughead reassured her. "I know my way around in the dark." And he meant the literal dark and also her darkness. She must have understood what he meant because she gave him a sweet peck on the cheek.
The stairwell smelled of wet earth, and something else, something tinny. The way his mouth tasted when he accidentally bit his tongue. Blood.
"Is it just me, or did the temperature just drop a dozen horror movies?" Jughead asked, trying to lightened the heaviness that hung in the stairwell with them. By now his eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could make out her face as she smiled at him, but her body stiffened when they came through the door that opened into the cement floored common room of the basement. The room was empty now, cleaned out from when the police did a forensic sweep of the area of the crime scene, but the heaviness of death still hung in the air.
"This is where Jason was shot," Betty said.
"Yeah." Jughead stopped in front of the rust colored stain on the concrete floor, where the blood had leached from Jason's body. Jason Blossom was a snob, a bully, and your stereotypical asshole jock, but he didn't deserve what happened to him.
"It's sad," Betty said, standing beside him. "How his dad murdered him. His own father."
"No matter what FP's faults, at least I know that he loves me," Jughead said. For the first time in so long, he believed it, too. FP still hadn't said the words to him, but he had shown it in his actions. If only he could get his own mother to call him back. He sighed. Maybe there was just no reaching some people. He started to walk toward the other set of stairs that lead into the bar, but Betty stopped him.
"Wait," she said, and pulled him over to a short, dented filing cabinet pushed up against the cement wall. She pulled open the top drawer and started rifling through it.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She flipped through several files before she looked up at him. "Looking for my mother's name. I just don't believe prim and proper, God-fearing Alice Cooper was a Serpent. I need proof."
"What kind of proof? You've already seen the picture of her wearing her boyfriend's Serpent jacket."
"Exactly. The jacket belonged to Snake. She could have just been wearing it, just like I'm doing right now."
"Yeah, okay, but I still don't understand what you're hoping to find in there."
"A list of the members from twenty-five years ago," she replied.
He stilled her hand and put the files away. "This isn't the Boy Scouts. I seriously doubt FP had a roster of Serpents." The cabinet drawer clicked shut.
They went up another set of stairs and into the bar. A hazy smoke filtered over the empty tables and barstools, over the pool tables and jukebox. The scent of stale cigarettes and cheap alcohol clung to every service, and it smelled like Jughead's childhood-like disappointment and sadness, missed birthdays and unattended elementary school plays.
"Eric's not here," Betty said.
But Jughead knew that there was one person here day and night. They walked over to a dark corner booth where a man sat, steaming mug of coffee in hand. The man was in his sixties, styled grey hair, clean shaven, face lined, but not too weathered. He looked like he could be on the cover of an AARP magazine. If you exchanged his leather jacket for a polo, he'd look at home on the golf course. Except for the jagged scar that sliced from his right temple, down to his jaw. Jughead was use to the scar, but he felt Betty tense when the man turned his head to the left.
"Jughead Jones the Third," the man said. The left side of his mouth refusing to turn up unlike the right side that smiled up at him.
"Hey, Johnny," Jughead said. "Have you seen Eric?"
Johnny sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, but he's gone now. I saw him pacing the sidewalk outside when I came in this morning, but he didn't come inside."
"Was he alone?" Betty asked.
For the first time, Johnny looked up at Betty, acknowledging her. "Not for long. Someone pulled up in a parking spot near him. He waved over to them and hopped into the car."
"Who was it? Who picked him up?" Betty questioned.
Johnny shrugged. "Couldn't say. It was still dark outside."
"Are there any surveillance cameras outside?" Betty asked.
Johnny only shrugged, so Jughead answered, "Yes, there are. The footage is in the office in the basement office. That's where my dad got the recording of Cliff shooting Jason. Is the office still unlocked?" Johnny shrugged again. "Thanks for all your help," Jughead said sarcastically.
Betty started to walk back toward the basement stairs, but spun around. "Did you know my mom?"
Johnny sat back and really looked at her. "That's why you look so familiar. Alice Cooper's girl?"
"Yes," Betty said firmly. "And we're looking for a missing teenage, so it'd be nice if you were slightly helpful. The last teen that went missing in this town ended up getting shot in the forehead right here in this establishment."
He chuckled. "Yep, Alice is your mother for sure."
Betty sat down at the table with him. "Was my mom really a Serpent?"
"The Queen of the Southside herself."
She nodded, taking the information in, keeping her emotions in check. "And she hung out with Fred, Mary, and FP?"
"And Sheriff Keller," Johnny supplied. Information they already knew.
"We're Mary and Fred Serpents?" Jughead asked, sitting down next to Betty.
"They hung around a lot, but no," Johnny said.
"What about Keller?" Jughead asked.
"Keller was a wanna be. We never did let him in. That's why he comes down on us so hard. He's still jealous."
"Do you know what Goldhead is?" Betty questioned.
Johnny's demeanor went from slacked and uninterested to engaged, spine straightened as he sat up and leaned forward, elbows on table, his half lidded eyes wide. He opened his mouth, but instead of saying anything, sat back again against the fake, cracked leather of the booth, crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Can't say," he replied.
"Can't say, but you know," Betty said. She stood up, and with her palms firmly on the table, she leaned down, getting into Johnny's face. "You're going to tell us what you know about Goldhead." Her voice was firm, hard, and the sight of her being so authoritative, had Jughead hard and firm, too.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Johnny said. Johnny stood up and pushed away from the table. "We're done here."
When he tried to move past Betty, she grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, and said, "You're going to tell us what you know."
Johnny glared down at her grasp on his jacket. Jughead noticed the twitch in his stance, the slight movement for his hand. Jughead knew his tendency towards violence. "Watch it," Jughead warned him. When Betty didn't let up her hold, Jughead pressed his palm into the small of her back, trying to signal to her that was enough. But Betty didn't know when to quit.
"If you don't tell me the truth. . ." Her voice trailed off, not knowing where to take her threat.
"Come on," Jughead said, physically removing her hand from Johnny's jacket and holding it tight. "He's not going to tell us anything."
"You're underage and in my bar," Johnny said. "Don't make me call the sheriff to haul you out of here. I'd hate to see you locked up with your daddy. Maybe there's room in FP's cell for all three of you. All you Joneses are trash."
Betty lurched forward, but Jughead didn't let go of her. "Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Betty yelled as Jughead pulled her along beside him. "You're the trash!"
He hustled her out of there, but his back bristled at the insult. He wanted to argue with Johnny, to fight him, but now wasn't the time, and it's wasn't a big enough deal to spar over it. But his hands still balled into fists as Johnny smirked at them as he rounded the table and disappeared behind the bar.
Once they were at the top of the stairwell, Jughead let go of her. "What an ass," Betty said. "I thought the Serpents were supposed to look out for you. That's not looking out."
"Johnny's not really a Serpent. He used to be, but he got into a motorcyle accident a few years ago. His mind has never been the same. They let him tend bar. He can remember how to mix drinks, but next time he sees me, he won't remember my name or whose son I am."
"Speaking of your dad, we should go talk to him. He'll tell us what Goldhead is," Betty said and Jughead agreed.
"But first, we need to look at the surveillance footage and see if we can recognize who picked up Eric."
As they stepped into the basement, the mantel of Jason's murder weighed heavily on him. Keeping their eyes off the red copper stain on the cement floor, they quickly walked through the room where Jason drew his last breath. Before they could make it to the stairs that lead out of the Whyte Wyrm, they ducked into the small office where they'd looked through the filing cabinet.
Jughead sat down at the desk and booted up an old desktop computer. Once it started, he toggled over to the file marked video surveillance, and opened it. The folder was empty. Next he clicked on the camera icon. A screen popped up, but instead of a live feed of the parking lot and various other spots, the screens were all filled with static.
"What a surprise," Jughead said. "Nothing here." He sighed as he pushed away from the desk and stood up.
Betty scooted around him and sat down at the desk herself.
"I told you that you aren't going to find a roster with your mom's name on it. What are you looking for now?" Jughead asked as she opened the large bottom desk drawer. It was empty.
"Not sure," she replied. She sat down on the swivel chair. In the top middle drawer, three black pens rolled around as she opened. And a dented, scuffed chrome flask sat in the back far corner.
"He has hiding places everywhere," Jughead said, picking it up. He threw it into the wastebasket. "I'd find them all over the house, tucked beneath the bench seat in the truck. Hell, I even found one in the mailbox once. And always in this damn office." Resting his palms against the edge of the desk, he ducked his head. FP had come so far, done so much to redeem himself, but the bad memories outweighed the good. Maybe they always would. Betty placed a hand on his hunched shoulders. "I fucking hate this place. I have so many horrible memories here."
"Want to make a better one?"
He didn't turn around, but he heard the Serpent jacket hit the floor, and then the rustling of clothes being rearranged. Her arms snaked around his waist. Her hand moved to the front of his jeans, her palm rubbing against him, making him stiffen at her touch.
She removed his jacket, and then pushed up his shirt until it came off over his head. Her naked breasts pressed against his back. And suddenly he so hard it hurt. He spun around, moving her with him until they had changed positions. She slipped her fingers through his hair, bringing him closer, but when he tried to kiss her, she shook her head. He started to ask her what was wrong, but when he saw that little spark of mischief in her eyes and when her hand started to push his head down, he knew what she wanted.
He unsnapped the jeans, yanked them down her legs, and pushed her shoulders until she sat down on the desktop. Spreading her thighs apart, Jughead went down on his knees, and he wasted no time. His lips weren't gentle as he kissed her, his tongue delving deep. He smiled against her inner thigh when she moaned. He kept his mouth in place, but his fingers joined in on the fun, stroking from the inside as his lips worked without. Betty's fingers fed through his hair, so tightly that yank against his scalp, but he didn't stop what he was doing to her. Her thighs pressed into his ears as her hips bucked forward and she came against his mouth.
As he rose to his feet, she leaned back against the wall behind the desk. Her bare breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples taunt with arousal. He wanted to give her time to recover, but seeing her like this, so debauched and wanton, he couldn't wait any longer.
Knowing it was coming, but not expecting him so soon, she gasped when he thrust into her. He pulled back a little too make sure she was okay with this, and she was. She scrambled for him, grabbing him and drawing him in deeper, forcing him higher. She moved in unison with him, her knees up around his ribs as he pumped into her.
After, when they silently dressed, he knew this is what he would always remember we he stopped inside this office. That he wouldn't think of FP passed out or being alone, but of being between Betty's thighs, teasing and tasting her, making her sign, making love to her.
Jughead stayed silent as they drove to visit FP at the police station. But once they were parked he asked, "Feel like giving me a good memory of this place, too?" Jughead asked.
Betty giggled. "Think we'd get arrested if I give you a blow job in the police station parking lot?"
Jughead chuckled. "I don't know. We can't get into trouble if we don't get caught."
Once they were inside the waiting area of Riverdale's police station, Jughead wiped his damp hands on the front of his jeans, adjusted the collar of his flannel shirt, and straightened his beanie. Betty stayed next to him as he eased his way up to the receptionist window and cleared his throat. Carol the receptionist knew him by sight and ignored him most of the time.
"Excuse me," Jughead said, but Carol kept her back to him, reading the romance novel.
Betty placed a reassuring hand on his back, moved him aside, and stepped in front of him. "Hey, Carol!" Betty called over to her, loud enough that a few other people also turned around. The white haired receptionist came up to the window. "We're here to see FP."
Carol peered them over the top of her book, and said, "FP isn't allowed any visitors today."
Betty tightened her ponytail, and leaned over the counter to whisper,"Listen, Carol, we're going to see Mr. Jones."
Jughead stood a little behind his girlfriend, studying her. When she was so determined, she looked a lot like Alice-even more like the picture they'd found because Betty was also wearing a Southside Serpent's jacket. Jughead would never admit to Betty the resemblance, but it made him chuckle to himself.
"Sheriff Keller said no visitors," Carol replied.
"I don't care what Keller said," Betty replied. "My mom told me that she saw you at the last AA meeting at church. She was volunteering as a peer mentor. She said you were pulled over for drunk driving on the Southside, but were able to talk the officer out of arresting you. I think Sheriff Keller would find it interesting that."
Carol grabbed Betty's hands that were resting on the counter. "Please," she said. "Don't say anything."
"Not a word. Cross my heart and hope to die," Betty said. She used her pointer finger to draw an X over her chest.
Carol glanced behind her, to the hallway that lead to the holding cells. "Family only," Carol said, looking at Jughead directly.
Jughead stepped up next to his girlfriend, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Betty is family," he said.
Betty tried to keep her serious face, but Jughead noticed her briefly slip into a smile when he called her family.
"Fine. Fine," Carol said.
Jughead took Betty's hand as they walked through the maze of people and desks behind the reception counter. Neither of them listened when one of the officers called out to them to stop. Jughead rounded the corner. He opened his mouth to call out a greeting to his father, only stop short at what he saw.
FP's cell was empty. His father was gone.
After I wrote the whole thing I realized that I changed Zach's name to Eric so...it's just gonna have it be Eric now 🤷🏾♀️