Can you write a fic where Betty is sick and Jughead takes care of her or vise-versa?
Yes I LOVE this prompt!
Jughead Gets The Flu
“Hey, have you seen Jughead yet today?” Betty asked. She was standing at Archie’s locker, scuffing her shoe gently against the floor, worried.
“Yeah, sorry Betty, he asked me to tell you. He’s still sick. F.P. and my dad are working at a site a few hours away and they’re staying there for the week. Jughead’s sleeping at the trailer park so he doesn’t get me sick.”
“He’s still sick?!” Betty asked, worry crossing her face. “What’s that, like, four days now?”
Archie nodded, placing some notebooks back in his locker.
“Alright, thanks, Arch.” Betty gave him an unconvincing smile, strolling back toward her own locker.
She spun the dial quickly, grabbing her backpack and placed a couple notebooks inside. She had gym next, then study period. She could afford to miss those.
She shut her locker, throwing her backpack over her shoulder, gripping the strap.
She rushed out of school, jogging down the sidewalk, thankful that nobody called out to her to question her.
She walked to Pop’s, ordering a chicken noodle soup and a peppermint tea to go.
Pop filled her order quickly, only one other patron there at such an awkward time in the day.
Next, she stopped at the pharmacy, grabbing tissues, throat lozenges, cough medicine, cold pills (day time and night time, just in case), Echinacea, hand sanitizer and a large bottle of water.
She stuffed the pharmacy bag into her backpack and walked the distance to Jughead’s trailer.
She knocked gently and waited, then knocked again after a few moments had gone by. She heard shuffling inside the trailer, then the door swung open.
“Oh, Bets. It’s you.” A slow smile spread across Jughead’s face. He looked sick, that was for sure.
His hat was missing, his hair unruly, sticking up in all directions. A few pieces stuck to his forehead.
His eyes were rimmed with hard purple bags, his nose bright pink at the tip. He had a blanket swung across his shoulders. He was smiling goofily at her.
“Come into my humble abode.” He sniffled.
“Thanks, Juggie,” She smiled despite herself.
Jughead sat on the couch, making room for Betty at one end. He extended his legs, stretching but leaving them on the ground. He rested his head against the arm rest.
“I brought you soup.” Betty smiled, placing the soup and the tea on the coffee table in front of them.
“You did!” He exclaimed, trying to sit up. He lost his balance, swaying towards the ground.
He caught himself as Betty reached out her hand.
“Jughead, oh my God, are you okay?” She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other hand brushed his bangs back and rested on his forehead, checking his temperature. “Jug, you’re burning up.”
Jughead took a deep breath. “I don’t feel good, Bets.”
“Are you going to throw up?”
Jughead shook his head. “No, it’s not that… just, too hot.”
“Okay, okay.” Betty grabbed the blanket Jughead had around him, tossing it to the floor.
She knelt on the floor next to him, taking his legs and swinging them onto the couch. “Here, babe, take this off.” Had she just called him babe? Maybe he wouldn’t remember.
Jughead did as she said, gripping the bottom of his tshirt and pulling it off as best he could while laying down.
Betty touched Jughead’s chest, feeling how hot and clammy it was beneath her hand. “Okay, Jug, they say you need to break fevers with more heat, don’t they? Shit, I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”
He didn’t answer, just kept breathing.
Betty grabbed her backpack from the floor and took out her pharmacy bag. She took out all the items, placing the on the coffee table, the grabbed the bottle of water. It was still cold.
“Here, take this.” Betty said, placing the water in his hand. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
She got up, walking to the kitchen. She was looking for paper towel, but she couldn’t see any.
She walked around the trailer, looking for the bathroom. She found it and spotted a facecloth hanging by the sink.
She ran the faucet, making the water as cold as possible, then soaked the facecloth.
She rushed back to where Jughead was lying down, and placed the facecloth against his forehead. While she was gone he must’ve had a couple sips of water, because it was half gone.
He audibly sighed when she placed the cloth against his head. She ran a knuckle softly against his cheek.
“Is that helping, Juggie?” She murmured.
“Yeah. A lot. Thank you.” He whispered.
Betty placed her hand at the edge of the couch. Jughead must’ve felt the weight there. He quickly slipped his hand in hers, squeezing.
Betty couldn’t help but smile.
“Jug, I also got you some medicine.”
His eyes popped open.
“Thank God,” He murmured, sitting up once more.
His eyes skimmed the coffee table, grabbing for the Buckleys cough medicine. He cracked the lid and put the bottle to his mouth.
Before Betty could stop him, more than half the bottle was gone. He had chugged it.
“Jughead, what are you doing?”
“I want to feel better.” He shrugged.
“You’re going to be high off that stuff.”
Jughead lied back, resting his head against the arm rest once more. “Guess I shouldn’t tell you that I popped two cold pills before you got here.” He laughed.
“Oh my God, Jug. That’s not good.”
“I’ll be fine.” Jughead whispered.
Betty sat there, not knowing what to say. She was still kneeling next to the couch, her hand back in Jughead’s.
Jughead was lying on the couch shirtless, the cloth on his head. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. She thought he had fallen asleep, so she pulled the cloth off of Jughead’s forehead and replaced it with her hand, checking his temperature.
“Betty?” Jughead murmured quietly.
“Mm?” She answered, placing the cold pills directly in front of him.
“Thank you.” He said earnestly.
“For what, Jug?”
“For doing this. Nobody has ever taken care of me when I was sick before.”
Betty had to bite her lip from the tears pricking her eyes. Just the thought of Jughead - how many times do you get sick in your life? - having to battle colds and flu’s by himself was making her emotional. Something so many people don’t think twice about, having someone to take care of them. She had just done what felt natural to her. She wanted to take care of him.
She squeezed his hand. “It’s my pleasure, Juggie. Get some sleep, okay?”
“Will you be here when I wake up?”
“Sure, Juggie. I won’t leave.”
She saw a smile spread across his face as he turned onto his side. She released his hand and picked up the soup and tea, placing them in the kitchen.
She put the bottled water, cold pills, lozenges and cough medicine on the coffee table and moved the beer bottles and empty cigarette packs into the kitchen.
After a few minutes, she walked around the trailer, looking for Jughead’s room. There was only one bedroom, she assumed F.P.’s, the bathroom, a small kitchen area and the living room. It dawned on her that F.P. must’ve gotten the trailer after Jellybean and their mom moved away.
She walked back the the couch Jughead was on and saw he was shivering. Jesus, what kind of bug was this?
She covered his body with the blanket and smoothed back his hair.
He opened his eyes at the touch.
“I don’t deserve you.” He didn’t say it in a sad way, nor a happy way. He was overheated and sick and exhausted. He was just being honest.
“You’d do the same for me, Juggie.” She smiled at him.
“How did I get so lucky?” He murmured, closing his eyes.
“I’m the lucky one, Jug.” She brushed his hair back again, his forehead feeling closer to normal.
“Don’t leave.” Jughead said, gripping her hand.
“I won’t, Juggie.”
“Lay down with me.”
“You might overheat again.” She warned.
“It’ll be worth it.” He said, closing his eyes.
Betty laughed as she laid down beside him.