Forsythe didn't have a second name. He liked it that way. It made him feel more cryptic, more mysterious. Though sometimes, especially the cold nights when his only warmth was the combined body heat of his closest friends, Archie and Ronnie, as they curled up together, the three of them pressed together to fight the Winter nights, the biting cold nipping at their skin. He began to imagine a different life. A life where he didn't have to dumpster dive for food and get chased down dark alley's by strangers that frankly terrified him. He'd have a mom, a dad. And Archie and Ronnie. Because that's who they were. They were his family.

Forsythe didn't remember a childhood before The Orphanage. It had always been him, Tatty pigtails Ronnie, and little Ginger head Archie. That's what the kid's at the orphanage called him anyway. Archie was teased a lot for his hair colour, for his freckled cheeks. But he didn't shy away and try and ignore their bullying. He had a tendency to fight back. Most of the time with his fists.

Forsythe had lost count how many times he'd had to drag Archie out of fights. He had always been the one sticking a Band-Aid over the cut in Archie's eyebrow, after he'd been punched by an older kid.

It was just the three of them. First against The Orphanage. Then against the streets. Against the world. But Forsythe couldn't help wonder what it what would be like to have an actual name. A family. Archie and Ronnie were the only family he had. It had been them, the Three Musketeers, since he could remember. Well, the furthest back he could remember was The Orphanage. Forsythe was nine years old, and was sure his birthday was somewhere in August. He just wasn't sure which day. The Orphanage didn't celebrate birthday's. Ronnie and Archie were a year older. Sometimes they teased him for being the youngest.

Archie and Ronnie also lacked second names. Ronnie had two pigtails and a stained dress she'd been wearing since they had ran away from St. Bartholomew's. She had swiped a jacket from one of the older kids the night they ran away, and had been wearing it since. It was far too big so she had to roll the sleeves up her long thin arms. Though she loved it. She said it made her look 'adult.'

Forsythe only knew the dark haired girl as 'Ronnie'. He figured she might have had a full name, back when she had actual parents. But the girl liked her name. She thought it sounded tough. Not girly. Ronnie was strong for an eleven year old.

She was only one year older than both Forsythe and Archie, and considered herself the leader, or rather, the mother, of their little gang. She sung songs for them when the wind was too strong, when Archie had a fever and was burning up. Street Life was bad, but they all agreed it was better than the Orphanage. The adults were mean. They barely let them see sunlight. Plus. It wasn't like they were going to get fostered. Even when they were forced into their best clothes, when Ronnie's hair was forcefully brushed into a manageable ponytail, and Forsythe's hair was cut to a manageable length. It didn't matter. Because the three of them had a pact, one that they would never break. They would intentionally sabotage any chance they had at getting fostered.

Whether it was being exaggeratedly loud, or just plain rude- it worked. They were never fostered, but that had its negatives. That meant they had to deal with Nancy, the house mother. A rather round woman with hair the colour and texture of straw. She had a knack for picking on Ronnie. It started with refusing to the feed the girl. But that was okay. Forsythe shared his sausage rolls, and Archie made sure the girl ate his pudding. But as Ronnie grew up, it became bullying. The woman would physically grab and yank her to dinner, when she didn't feel hungry. And would humiliate her in front of the other kids when she had head lice. Forsythe and Archie had caught Ronnie trying to run away numerous times. On her seventeenth attempt, they finally decided to join her.

So they decided to run away from St. Bartholomew's. Which seemed great at first. No adults. No being told what to do. No Nancy. Except now it was empty belly life. Rot and smelly life.

Full of sorrow life. Well, not exactly. He had them. Ronnie and Archie. They made life liveable.

Forsythe lets out a small sigh as he watches his friends. No. His mind corrects him. They were his brother and sister. Ronnie laughs loudly, her giggles echoing in the night as she stands in her filthy dress which could no longer be called the colour white. She's waist deep, in glowing blue water as the pool lights shine across her face. She had golden skin which caught the light and a gap between her two front teeth when she let out a shriek, covering her face when Archie splashed her. 'Archie!'

The stink of chlorinated water tickles Forsythe's nose as he stares hard into the pool, at the rippled water lapping his grimy toes. He leans back and stares at the dark sky and wonders what it would be like to actually be a little kid in his garden, paddling in the huge pool which took up half of the property.

He imagined a mother and father he never knew. Smiling and waving as he leaned on his back, staring up at the starless sky. His chest ached at the thought of leaving the property and going back to the creepy alleyway that had set up some kind of home. Well, if they could call a bunch of soiled newspapers and a cardboard arch a home. They did their best, but sometimes Forsythe craved a blanket. He craved warmth and light. Not the dank, dark and creepy alleyway.

They'd chosen this house purely because Ronnie desperately needed a wash, and Archie had always wanted to swim in a real, actual swimming pool. Forsythe knew the house was owned by someone rich. Someone with loads of money. His stomach grumbled. He was starving. The last thing he had eaten was a hotdog Ronnie had dived in a dumpster for. The smell had been driving her crazy. They had shared it between the three of them. It had been the best thing he'd tasted in his life.

Forsythe is content watching the others splash around. Ronnie ducks under the water before resurfacing, her dark hair plastered to her face. Archie has disappeared under the depths. He can't help let his gaze wander, across the pool yard, over to the sliding doors leading into the property. His stomach grumbles. He bet whoever owned this place had a fridge full of food. His mind starts to dawdle as he stares, hard, at the lock on the door. His fingers tingled. Could he really do it?

'Boo!' Forsythe swallows a yell, instead letting out a laugh as Archie emerges from the water, his hands curled into makeshift claws. The boy has never looked so happy, his grin stretched across his freckled face, brown eyes shining. Archie wades over before hoisting himself out of the pool and sits himself next to Forsythe, dangling his feet in the turbulent water. 'Why aren't you coming in?' the redhead asks through strands of ginger hair sticking over his eyes.

Forsythe shrugs. 'I'm too hungry.' He admits, and Archie nods a little, before slipping back into the water, and grabbing his feet, giving them a sharp playful tug. Forsythe nearly falls forwards, and lets out a squeak. 'Ow, Arch!' he tries to yank back his feet, but the redhead has a firm grip on his ankles. 'Come on!' he giggles, and Ronnie joins him, silently breaking the surface in front him. Her arms are folded and she leans against the side of the pool. 'I need shampoo.' She announces, pouting.

'I don't think dumpsters have shampoo, Ronnie.' Archie says, before giving Forsythe's ankle another tug. The grin never leaves his face.

Forsythe groans. 'Archie It's too cold!" he moans at the older boy. Archie giggles, splashing him. "It's clean though!" He says excitedly. Forsythe has to admit it. When the spray of water washes against his skin, he feels the tiniest bit clean. Like a simple splash of water could wash away months of empty tummy's, tear- stained faces and dirt and grime practically engrained into his skin. He was sure the t-shirt he was wearing was glued to his flesh.

Eventually Archie and Ronnie tire of swimming, and end up climbing out of the pool, dripping wet. Forsythe is the youngest, but sometimes- he swears he's the smartest. 'You're both soaking!' he holds back a giggle as he stares at Archie and Ronnie. They stand there shivering, their arms wrapped around their chests. Archie had been too excited to bother stripping before he jumped in, so he was stuck in soaked-through fraying jeans and his batman t-shirt. 'It was worth it, though.' He says quietly, his gaze on the rapidly growing pool of water stemming around him as his clothes dripped pool water.

Ronnie's 'white' dress sticks to her, and she looks uncomfortable, standing barefoot as the dress sticks to her legs. Luckily, she still had her dry jacket. Archie had put it over her shoulders since she couldn't stop shivering. Forsythe frowned at the two of them, his mind exploding with worries. How were they going to get dry? It was far too cold for them to dry naturally. The temperature in Toledo in the Winter dropped like crazy. He studied Archie's expression. It was definitely regret.

'You're never going to dry.' He mumbles at the two of them. This time he's not smiling. He's scared. What if they caught something and got really ill? Forsythe finds himself navigating around the pool, his wet feet slapping the smooth concrete as he made his way over to the sliding doors. He pressed his face against the glass, peering inside. He tried hard not to look at his reflection. Though it was hard not to. He was a small stocky and skinny boy who really needed a haircut. Strands of dark hair hung in his eye, almost obstructing his vision. He looked pale. Months on the streets had turned his cheeks gaunt. Forsythe shook his head and looked past his reflection, into the house.

The doors led straight into the kitchen. His mouth watered as he spotted their huge fridge, sitting at the edge of the kitchen. There was a bowl of fruit on a counter top and he his stomach growled. 'Are you thinking about breaking in?' Forsythe jumps a little, bounding away from the door, finding his friends, still dripping wet, standing beside him. Archie looks curious, his eyebrows cocked. His arms are still wrapped protectively around his chest. He's still shivering. Ronnie had thrown her jacket over his shoulders this time. Forsythe wondered if they were taking turns wearing it.

He shrugs, his gaze on the lock. It looked so easy. He squats in front of the door, peering closely at the fancy metallic keyhole. 'Hairclip.' He murmurs, sticking his hand out, in Ronnie's direction. She frowns a little, before pulling out her silver hair-slide and pressing it into his palm. 'Are you really going to try getting in?' she asks, leaning close to him. Archie sighs, blowing into the glass of the door. 'I wish this was my house.' He murmured softly. He draws a smiley face in the condensation with his shaking finger. Forsythe feels his stomach twist. He wished it was his house too.

'So how exactly are you planning on getting in?' Archie asks, casually leaning against the door. His eyes are wide and alert, his gaze bouncing to the garage at every noise. 'Dude, they could come back at any moment!'

Forsythe shrugs. He positions Ronnie's hair slide in just the right place, digging it in the lock. 'I saw it in a film, once.' He murmurs, before giving the clip a sharp twist.

Forsythe expected the clip to break, or an alarm to start blaring. Because that was their luck. It always had been. When they snuck into restaurant kitchen's, attempting to grab some freshly baked bread, or maybe luxury chicken and sausages. But they always got caught, and dragged out like animals. Forsythe considered every day and night a fight for survival. If they didn't scrounge for food, if they didn't somehow get lucky, finding a half eaten burger on the side-walk, they didn't eat.

Forsythe's eyes lit up, however, his lips curling into a grin. Maybe they weren't so unlucky after all? He stumbled backwards when one of the glass door slowly slid open, and Ronnie let out a squeal of excitement. Archie shakily moved the other sliding door, and it slid open easily. 'No way!' he cried, nearly tripping over his feet. Forsythe's heart was pounding as the three of them took a slow, steady and unsure step into the kitchen. The room was huge with multiple countertops, a huge dining table, warm orange walls and a cheery vase of flowers sitting on the dining table. There were two entryways, one leading to a silver spiral staircase, and the other leading into what looked like a sitting room. Forsythe took all this in, and reached out a shaky hand, grasping for Archie's.

'Who lives here?' Archie breathed. His gaze was on multiple pictures framing the walls. They looked like guitarists, artists of some kind. Ronnie let out a shuddery breath. 'It's beautiful.' The other two nodded in agreement. The three kids were frozen, still on the threshold of the sliding doors.

'We're...we're just going to get something to eat, and get dry.' Forsythe said. His voice was shaking. He was already moving towards the fridge, his gut doing somersaults.

'I'm going to try find dry clothes! Ronnie ran off, sliding on the marble floor, giggling as she fought to keep her balance. Her wet feet made slapping noises as she climbed the staircase.

'I hope they have a shower!' she called down, then after a second, there was a squeal of delight from the girl. 'They do!'

Archie and Forsythe exchanged a smile. 'Just hurry up!' Forsythe yelled back. But he couldn't stop the grin stretching across his lips. If he had time, he was going to have a bath too. His skin tingled at the thought of water, which wasn't freezing cold rain. Real, actual warm water.

Forsythe yanked open the fridge. His eyes were stinging with tears as a bright light hit his face, revealing shelves and shelves of food, piled on top of each other. Archie stood next to him, his gaze particularly on a giant chocolate cake sitting on the top shelf.

Forsythe swallowed what he was sure was going to be a hysterical cry of delight. He was already grabbing it off of the shelf and placing it on the countertop. The two boys leaned over the cake. Forsythe was ravenous. He had never been so hungry. His stomach twisted and turned as he stared at the chocolate frosting decorating rich dark sponge and fresh whipped cream. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out and grabbing a huge handful of frosting and shoving it into his mouth. Archie giggled, carving his dirty fingernails into the cake and digging in. The boys started to tear the cake apart, laughing. Forsythe became hungrier and hungrier the more he ate. Chocolate smeared his face and chin, but he didn't care. Archie was already diving back into the fridge, pulling out a pizza box.

'Is that pizza?' He found himself asking, through a mouthful of cake. It didn't look like the pizza he knew. That had been street pizza. Pulled out of dumpsters. Sometimes he had to pick off the cigarette buts and bits of mold. Archie only nodded, his brown eyes shining. Forsythe stared at the pizza box in Archie's arms. There were two gigantic slices of pizza, smothered in tomato sauce and stringy cheese. Archie let out a moan, grabbing a slice and taking a huge bite. There were no cigarette butts. No mold. Forsythe could have cried.

He took a slice too, and was demolishing it without even giving his tongue a chance to taste. Archie grinned at him, a combination of tomato sauce, cheese and chocolate smeared his face. Though Forsythe was pretty sure he looked the same. 'This is so good!' Archie cried, savouring another bite.

'Well, what have we here, Fred?' a gruff chuckle shocks the two of them out of their stupor, and Forsythe drops his slice, his stomach vaulting into his throat. Archie lets out a hiss of surprise, stumbling backwards into the cool metal of the fridge. Forsythe stands completely frozen, his heart doing flips in his chest. He wants to speak, but he's too afraid. His lips feel like they're sewn shut.

'It seems we have some visitors.'

Ronnie stands under the shower spigot, fiddling with the dial. She had already smothered her dark hair with strawberry smelling shampoo and caressed it into her scalp. Just like the women in hair commercials did. She let out a breath as she tackled with the dial. She hadn't had a bath, or bathed in clean water, since she had stood in the middle of a rain storm.

She remembered Archie and Forsythe trying to drag her back into shelter, but she had yanked away from them. She had stood, barefoot on the concrete as the heavens opened above her. She remembered crying out in shock and pain, holding back the tears as rain-water lashed on top of her, soaking her dress through. But it had been worth it. Even if she had caught a cold, and given it to both Archie and Forsythe. She had finally been clean. She had finally felt like a ten year old girl.

Though this was different. Ronnie was standing in a sparkling white bathroom, her dirty feet smearing muck in a huge marble tub decorated with little figurines and bottles of body wash. Ronnie cocked her head with a frown as she tackled the spigot. 'Come on!' she mumbled. She was freezing cold, her skin prickling with ice. She had flung her dress on the furry rug which lay on the tiled floor. She had kicked it away, a twist of disgust on her lips. She would do anything to wear fresh, clean clothes.

Ronnie let out a squeak of surprise when the shower head started gushing boiling hot water, and she hissed in pain, grabbing the dial and yanking it back a few notches. The water turned warm then, and she let out a soft sigh, ducking her head, letting her skin be enveloped, caressed by the warm stream which pooled at her feet. She blindly reached out for some body wash and squirted it all over herself, revelling in the strong smell snaking into her nostrils. It was sweet on her lips, bitter on her tongue. She couldn't help letting out a sob. Why couldn't this be her life? A thought suddenly strikes her as she massages the sponge over her dirty skin, scrubbing it so harshly her skin began to sting.

Why did her parents give her up? Was she really that bad of a baby?

She's surprised then, by a sudden knock at the door. She grasps for a towel, climbing out of the bath and staring down at her toes, and holding her hands out in front of her. Clean. Her feet were scrubbed clean, glistening their real, natural, chestnut glow. 'Don't come in!' she squeaked, wrapping a towel around herself. She revelled in the steam emitting from her skin, in the tangy smell in her hair.

There was no reply for a second, and Ronnie rolls her eyes. 'Archie, Forsythe, if you're planning on barging in, I'll throw a bottle of shampoo at you!' she whipped her wet hair back, letting it soak against the warm fluffy towel press against her back. 'Guys?' Her heart did a little skip as her voice bounced back at her. Still no reply. Ronnie took a deep breath. There was definitely someone behind the door, but if it was the boys, they'd shout back. They wouldn't want to scare her.

'F- Forsythe?' she whispered. She let out a hiss, when a voice broke through the silence. But it wasn't Forsythe. It was a much older voice.

'Is that this little shit's name? ' a soft chuckle. 'Now, if you'd like to come out of our bathroom, please. We just want to talk.' The man's voice terrified her. 'Oh, and please be decent.'

Ronnie couldn't help herself. 'Where- where are my friends?' she shouted back, her voice twisting into a frightened cry. There was another chuckle, from what sounded like another man. Her heart sank. 'They're right here, kid. Currently covered in last night's lunch.'

Ronnie froze, before her instincts kicked in. She hurriedly tied the towel around herself with shaking hands before grasping for the heaviest bottle of body wash. She held it defensively at her side before edging towards the door. 'Can you step away from the door, please?' she whispered softly.

'Alright, we're moving back.' One of the men said. 'Quit playing games and come out, kid.'

Ronnie swallowed harshly before reaching out and twisting the silver door knob once. Her heart flipped in her chest and she immediately regretted it when the door swung open easily, revealing three pairs of combat boots pushed into the carpet. She grasped her make-shirt weapon, the shampoo bottle, tighter in her hand, as she looked up, finding herself staring into the faces of three grown men. Strangely, they didn't look angry. Only amused. The man in the front had olive skin, short dark hair and a gleaming smile as he peered down at her. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans. There was a nose-ring sticking from his left nostril. 'Hello there.' He smiled at her, but she couldn't help notice the sleek black object practically carved into his hand. He held it casually at his side. No wonder Forsythe and Archie were cowering behind the three men. She noticed the boy's were covered in food. It smeared their faces and clothes. Her mouth watered.

Was that chocolate? She eyed Forsythe, and he only ducked his head, guiltily.

The three man standing in front of her had weapons like her. Except, they weren't holding shampoo bottles. She felt a spike of fear in her gut. Gun's. They had real, actual gun's.

'Please.' She found herself pleading. She dropped the shampoo bottle. It landed with a thud on the carpet, and she felt the noise in her chattering teeth. She stared fearfully at the olive skinned man. 'Please don't kill us!' she whispered. 'We- we were just hungry. I'm – I'm sorry-'

The other guy standing behind the olive-skinned man, choked out a laugh. He had curly dark hair and stubble. He wore a plaid shirt over a shirt. 'Kill you?' he scoffed. 'Why on earth..?' his gaze seemed to travel to his own hand, which was grasping a gun. He chuckled. 'Ah, right.'

'They look homeless.' The final man smirked. He also wore plaid, but his stubble was scruffy, his hair a spiky mess on his head. 'Aint that right, kids?'

The olive skinned man sighed. 'Alright guys,' he straightened up, folding his arms. 'How about we go down to the sitting room and talk?'

The sitting room was like nothing Ronnie had ever seen. It was huge. Almost bigger than St Bartholomew's itself. Though maybe she was exaggerating. Her mind was spinning. She marvelled at the flat screen sticking from the walls. It was frozen on what looked like a gaming screen. There was a huge gun on the screen in mid-fire in what looked war town Europe. The man who introduced himself as Hiram had given her one of his shirts and some shorts. The shirt felt like a dress on her, but she easily rolled up the sleeves. It had a swear word written on the front. She pretended she hadn't noticed. Though she had definitely heard the words spoken at the Orphanage. Nancy said it a lot.

She sat in front of a mahogany coffee table while a roaring fire blasted her skin with warmth. Her hair was still damp, but she had never felt cosier in her entire life. Her bare feet sunk into the soft carpet and her eyes felt heavy. She felt like curling up into the plush leather, sleeping for days.

Hiram set three cups of hot chocolate on the table. 'This is what kids like, right?' he shrugged, before taking a seat next to the two other men. Ronnie knew this was wrong. These were strangers. They could be anyone, do anything to her and the boys. Except Hiram's smile was friendly.

Archie and Forsythe squeezed next to her on the comfy sofa. They too had been provided with warm clothes. Archie was in a long sweater and jeans he had to keep yanking up his waist.

The three men who apparently owned the home sat opposite them, squashed together like the kids. Ronnie was waiting for the mood to change, for Hiram to start yelling. But he didn't.

'So,' Hiram clears his throat. 'Are you guys going to tell us your names or should we continue calling you Little Shits?' he leans forwards, eyes sparkling at Ronnie. 'What about you, sweetie?'

Ronnie hadn't touched her hot drink, even if she really wanted to. When she had tried to, Archie had caught her arm. 'It could be poison!' he hissed, and she'd nodded, reluctantly setting the cup back down on its bright green coaster. Archie and Forsythe didn't speak. The two of them were staring at the floor. 'I'm Ronnie.' She decided to reply, with a small smile. Her fingers flitted through damp strands of her hair. She tugged on it nervously.

Hiram smiled back. 'Ronnie, huh?' he cocked his head. 'Is that short for something?' he asked, and she shook her head. 'The Orphanage called me Ronnie.'

The other man, Fred, he had introduced himself as, hummed in acknowledgement. He stood up and began pacing the room. 'So you guys are orphans?' he asks, turning to the kids, frowning. His eyes are on Archie. 'What about you, son? What's your name? How old are you, like eight?'

Archie frowns. 'I'm ten and a half!' he exclaims. The man behind Fred, chuckles. 'Yeah, Fred. Get his age right.'

Archie ducks his head, ginger curls falling in his eyes. 'I'm Archie.' He mumbles. 'I don't have a second name.'

Fred smiles at the boy. 'Fred Andrews.' He murmured, gesturing to himself. His lips curled into a smirk. 'Am I that scary?' Archie doesn't shy away from the man's smile, however. 'Hello.' He says softly. Even when Forsythe nudged him with his shoulder, rather violently.

'And I'm FP,' the other man, the guy with the stubbly beard, raised his arms in a greeting.

'Wassup kids.' He smiled at the three of them. Though his gaze seemed to stray on Forsythe. His expression changing. A lazy smile became wide eyes. He frowned at the boy, before fiddling in his pocket and pulling out what looked like an old knitted beanie. It looked like a crown. 'Here.' FP chucked the hat at Forsythe, who caught it, a look of surprise lighting up his face. 'It looks like you need it.' The man mumbled. 'Plus. You're starting to look like a fifteen year old emo.'

'Thanks.' Forsythe muttered, before putting the hat on. He found himself smiling. It felt warmer. FP shrugged. 'Any time, kid.' He replied. He scrubbed at his chin. 'What do they call you, Jughead?'

Forsythe winced. 'What?' he frowned, at the strange name. FP shook his head, with a laugh. 'I dunno, it's what I think of when I look at you. The name has a ring to it.'

Forsythe shuffled uncomfortably. 'My name's Forsythe.' He muttered. Forsythe didn't look back up at FP, but he was repeating the name over and over again in his head.

Jughead. Forsythe shivered. It did sound better.

Hiram cleared his throat, his gaze on Ronnie. 'So, Ronnie,' he says, standing up slowly. He doesn't go near the girl, but he does tower over her. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a string of what look like pearls. Ronnie's eyes twinkle, her gaze on the shining stones dangling between the man's fingers. 'I don't know about you, sweetheart,' he murmurs softly. 'But I think Veronica suits you more.'

'Hiram.' Fred growls. He also gets to his feet, his expression darkening. He glances at the kids, who now look frightened. Though Ronnie can't seem to able to tear her gaze from the pearls still in Hiram's hands. 'If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, you're crazy!' the man hissed. 'It's borderline kidnapping, Hiram!' Archie flinched at the word kidnapping and shuffled uncomfortably.

The other man scoffed out a laugh. 'Oh come on Freddie, we're hardly on the right side of the law.' He smirked. 'Plus, I saw the way you looked at the redhead. Didn't you always want a little boy ever since Mary's miscarriage?' The two men turned to stare at Archie, who ducked his head.

'Plus,' FP cuts in. He stands up and rounds the sofa, standing behind the kids. 'Nobody will miss 'em. They're orphans.'

Ronnie felt her heart flutter. She shoots up without hesitation, stumbling a little. 'We should go.' She said, her voice shaking a little. 'We- we don't talk to strangers.'

'Sit down, missy.' FP gently pushes her back onto the sofa. 'Look,' he sighs. 'We're not going to hurt you, for fuck sake, we're trying to-'

Fred rolls his eyes. 'Do you even know how to talk to kids?' He clears his throat and knelt in front of the three of them. 'What we're trying to say is that..' he hesitates, before standing back up, facing Hiram. 'No, this is wrong.' He mumbles. 'Hiram, we need to take them back to the Orphanage.'

'Freddie.' Hiram's voice is firm. 'I got this.' He faces the kids. 'Okay, we have an offer for you.' He smiles at them. FP and Fred still look wary. 'Are you sure about this?' Fred hisses.

'Huh.' FP murmurs. 'I've always wanted a son.'

'Yep.' Hiram doesn't tear his gaze from Ronnie, Archie or Forsythe. 'Alright kids. Here's our deal. You broke into our house, ate our food and mucked up our bathroom. Do you want to go back to the streets?'

Ronnie shook her head automatically. As did Archie, and after hesitating, Forsythe muttered a 'No.'

'Okay!' Hiram clapped his hands together. 'Okay, so here's our offer. We either feed you to the hungry rats in our basement-' his lips twist menacingly, but his eyes are teasing.

'Hiram.' Fred warned.

'Relax, Freddie, I'm playing around! Anyway! How would you kids like to live here?' he smiles kindly. Ronnie opens her mouth, but Hiram isn't finished. 'On one condition.' He says.

'What's that?' Archie asked, his voice quivering. Hiram cocks his head. 'Honestly, kid. There's nothing to be afraid of. The condition is that we get to raise you as our own, which means,' he points at Archie. 'You become an Andrews.' Then he smiles at Ronnie. 'You, sweetheart, a Lodge.'

'And finally.' His gaze is on Forsythe. But FP is already standing up, excitedly. 'Mr. Weird Name is now Jughead Jones.' He says, a grin etched on his face. His gaze is on Forsythe. 'What do you say, son?'

Forsythe finds himself smiling back and nodding. There was something about FP's smile that made him feel- safe. For the first time in a long, long time. Fred glanced at Archie. He still looks unsure, but when the boy looks up at him, brown eyes wide and excited, he can't help smile.

Hiram nods to himself. His gaze is on the three kids, anticipating their reply. 'Well?'

There's a small hesitation between the three of them, before they each nod. Hiram grins excitedly. 'Okay, great!' he surveys the kids. 'Archie Andrews, Jughead Jones and Veronica Lodge.' He smiles softly at them, a twinkle in his eyes. 'Welcome to your new home.

CHAPTER ONE – SIX YEARS LATER

'Is there anyone there with you?'

Betty Cooper couldn't help rolling her eyes at her mom's usual paranoid self. Even when she was over a thousand miles away, her mother still managed to make her feel like shit. Betty stretched out on her bed, pressing her face into her mattress. Her phone was balanced strategically in front of her, her mother on speaker. Though she was seriously considering turning the damn thing off, and cutting the call. Every phone call was a lecture. Her parents had been gone for a day, and it felt like they had never left. 'No, mom' she mutters, her gaze on her patchwork duvet. 'It's just me.'

'Elizabeth, I know you're the more responsible one out of you and your siblings, but please don't burn the house down. I know you're sensible, honey. But may I remind you of a couple of years ago when-'

'When I had a party and some kids smashed your prize vase.' Betty grumbles into her arms. 'Yes, I know, mom. I'm pretty sure you're never going to let me forget that.'

'Elizabeth.' Alice Cooper's voice crackles when Betty picks her phone up, holding it to her ear. 'Mm?' she murmured, sliding off of her bed. She wandered over to her window and gazed out at the twilight sky. Betty sighed and turned her bedroom light on. She hated the dark. 'Mom, I'll be okay.' She said, walking out of her room and down the hall. 'Can you stop worrying? I'm sixteen years old.'

It was the first time in her whole life, that Betty had the house to herself for a week, since her parents and five year old little sister Polly, had gone to Spain for their anniversary. Her older brother, Chic, had just gone to college. Betty would have gone on holiday too, if it wasn't for school, and her important positions in almost every extra-curricular. She was president of the school newspaper, a River Vixen cheerleader, and vice president of the Junior book club.

Of course she thought about throwing a party for the River Vixens, but her mother had shot that thought down automatically, after reminding her that she knew every neighbour, and they would be 'checking up on her'.

Her mother goes silent for a second, as Betty wandered downstairs, revelling in the sweet silence of the empty house. She idly strolls into the kitchen, flinging open the fridge and peering inside. She still had the phone awkwardly between her cheek and shoulder. 'Please make sure to lock all the doors, tonight' Alice says, in her usual to-the-point firm way.

'I'm going to.' Betty muttered. She dug in the fridge for a coke, and then grabbed a tub of ice-cream, kneeing the door shut.

'Mom, like I've said a million times, I'm not a kid.' Betty grabbed a spoon and took her treats back into the sitting room and collapsed onto the sofa overlooking a flat screen. The Netflix home screen flashed as she started to flick through the vast amount of titles. 'Betty, you know how much I worry-' her mother started to say, but Betty cut in. 'Mom, we live in Suburbia. We know all the neighbours, and Midge's mom and dad are just across the road if I decide to pull out the Ouija board.'

'Betty, that's not funny.' Betty swallowed the urge to mutter 'yes it was' and cracked open her soda, taking a sip. 'Just go have fun with dad, mom. It's your anniversary.'

Her mother sighed. 'I love you, Betty.' She said softly, and Betty found herself smiling. 'I love you too, mom.' She mumbles. 'I'll call you just before I go to bed, okay?' She doesn't wait for her mother to reply, before ending the call. Betty dug into the ice-cream, leaning comfortably into the plush leather of the sofa. She ended up settling on an episode of Black Mirror.

Thirty minutes into Black Mirror, her phone, which was lying on her chest, vibrated, and she jumped, nearly sending the half full bag of Dorito's flying from her lap. Betty reached for her phone, peering at the screen.

NOW: Kevin, 8:06PM: WHERE ARE YOU?

Betty sat up and began to text back, but the image of Kevin she had taken last Summer, as he held a pineapple with a twisted grin, flashed onto the screen. Betty accepted the call, shoving the phone to her ear. She could hear the party she wasn't aloud to be at, and she bit her lip. Within a second, her friend, Kevin Keller, was yelling down the phone. She winced.

'Betty, in case you haven't noticed we're sophomores, and this is LITERALLY the biggest party of the year!' Kevin's voice was slightly slurred. He put so much emphasis on the word 'literally' that Betty thought he was actually going to explode.

'Kev, I told you. I'm house sitting.' She paused. 'Besides, I'd rather be educated by the political and slightly terrifying universe of Black Mirror.'

She could hear the usual party ambience in the background. Yelling, laughing and loud chatter. Some pop song she hadn't heard of practically vibrated through her speakers.

'Really?' his reply came fast, and in the background there was a sudden cacophony of yells chanting for beer pong. Betty shrugged. Though she knew Kevin couldn't see it. She hugged a pillow closer to her chest. 'It's good!.' She defended, her eyes on the TV screen. Kevin snorted. 'Betty, you watch that show just to freak yourself out and it's not working. Do you know how many times you've flinched at your phone? Zero.' He paused. 'Watch something fun and trashy!' he shouted. Betty plugged her ear with her pinkie. Sometimes Kevin's voice gave her a headache. Especially when he was drunk.

'How about The Avengers?' Kevin continued. 'It's fun, it's trashy. There's explosions. Perfect.'

Kevin was right about Black Mirror. She mostly watched it just to creep herself out. Betty sighed, turning the TV off and rolling onto her stomach. 'Kevin, I've told you a million times. I'm saving the Marvel films for a time when I've broken every bone in my body and am bed-ridden.'

'But you're missing so much! Did you know there's a third Avenger film coming out?'

'Yes.' Betty jumped a little at a sudden knock at the door. She straightened up, craning her neck and peering at the window. Who was knocking at this time of night?

Another knock, this time persistent, made her jump again.

'What was that?' Kevin hissed. The phone line crackled. 'Was that a knock?' he dramatized a gasp of shock. 'Betty Cooper, do you have a date?' she didn't even have time to answer as she slowly got up off the sofa. 'Is it Reggie Mantle?' Kevin continued to yell down the phone. 'Because I said like a million years ago that I had dibs!' Okay, maybe Kevin was a little more drunk than she thought. Though all Betty's attention was suddenly on whoever was at the door.

'I've gotta go.' She murmured, quickly tapping END CALL before Kevin could protest. Betty slowly made her way to the door, warily. Especially when the knocks kept coming. She considered not answering it, but she was in the hallway, and the light was on, so surely whoever was standing on her doorstep could see her. Betty pocketed her phone and rested her hand on the door handle before yanking it open. Betty didn't know who she expected. She found herself staring at a girl around her age with sleek dark hair framing a heart shaped face. Her skin was practically glowing underneath a tight black dress hugging a perfect figure, a bound leather jacket complimenting it. Betty looked down at her own outfit, which consisted of her pastel pyjama shirt with a unicorn on it with sweatpants. She felt underdressed. Why hadn't she gone to the damn party?

Though it took Betty a few seconds to notice the girl was crying. Her eyeliner was smudged down her face. She lifted an arm and swiped at her eyes. Betty opened her mouth, but the girl seemed to catch a hold of herself. She sniffed loudly and laughed a little, rubbing at her red eyes.

'Hi.' The girl's voice was choked. 'I'm- I'm sorry..' she seemed uncomfortable as she crossed one boot over the other. Betty couldn't help staring at the girl's legs. They were modelled to perfection. 'My boyfriend just broke up with me, and- and I'm not from around here.' The girl whispered, her gaze on the ground. 'Can I- can I use your land-line to ring my daddy? I just want to go home.'

Betty frowned. Since when did anyone her age say the word 'Daddy' un-ironically? Though upon looking at the girl, really taking her in, Betty began to understand. There was a string of pearls hanging from the girl's throat. They looked pretty damn expensive. Betty fingered the base of her phone in her pocket. Her mother's words echoed in her mind. Remember, Betty. Don't let anyone inside the house.

'Sure.' Betty smiled at the girl. 'You can use my phone.' She pulled it out and pressed it into the girl's palm. The girl looked grateful. 'Thank you so much!' she looked like she was going to cry again and hurriedly dialled what Betty presumed was her father's number. The girl briefly glanced up at Betty as her fingers tapped the screen, her eyes were a pretty green colour that Betty suddenly envied. 'I'm Camila by the way.' She smiled, before pressing the phone to her ear.

Betty nodded. 'I'm-' she started to say, but was cut off when Camila sighed and shook her head, bringing the phone away from her ear. 'There's no answer.' She muttered. Then her eyes flicked to Betty. 'Could I have a glass of water?' she asked. 'I'm sorry if it's impolite, I just feel a little sick.'

Betty hesitated for a second, before nodding. Camila seemed like a nice girl. Plus, it was only for a glass of water. She nodded. 'Um, yeah, I'll get you one. Just come into the hall while you wait.'

Camila let out a breath of relief. 'Thank you!' she hugged her arms around her chest and took a dainty step over the threshold. 'It's freezing out there!' Camila laughed a little, and Betty started to back into the kitchen. 'Ill get you that glass of water.' She quickly retrieved a glass from the sink and filled it with water, before she remembered something. 'Uh, Camila?' she decided to pour herself a glass since she was thirsty. 'Would you mind shutting the door behind you? We can drink in the living room if you-'

Betty was halfway out of the kitchen, before she noticed Camila was gone, and there was another stranger standing in the hallway, leaning against the door. Betty's stomach flipped over. 'Hello?' her voice was strained. 'Are you, uh, are you-' Camila's boyfriend? Came into her mind. After all, it made sense that the girl's boyfriend (or ex boyfriend) would follow her. She waited for an answer, but none came.

The boy stood, as if obstructing her way out of the front door. He looked her age. He had dark red hair falling in his eyes, pale skin and freckles decorating his face. His lips were curved into a smirk. He was also bearing a leather jacket, like Camila and wore skinny jeans, combat boots and- Betty lost her breath. He had a gun.

The boy's eyes were calculating, his smirk morphing into a boyish grin. 'Nice house!' he remarked, his gaze bouncing over the walls, her mother's prize portraits, school picture of her and Polly. He straightened up, swinging the gun playfully, as if it was a toy. Betty still held the two glasses of water, her hands shaking. With a startled cry, she whipped around, only to slam into something soft. The glasses slipped from her grip and shattered on the floor, splashing her with icy cold water.

'Now look what you've done.' Another voice sent chills down her spine, and Betty straightened up, finding herself face-to-face with another boy. Also her age. He looked the same as Camila and the red-head, bearing the leather jacket over some band t-shirt. He had olive skin and dark hair poking from what looked like a knitted beanie shaped like a crown. 'You're definitely not who I expected.' he murmured. His eyes were a golden brown, glaring into her own. Eventually, Betty found her voice. 'Who the hell are you?' she hissed. 'Get-' she stumbled over her words. 'Get the hell out of my house!' she was about to push him, or maybe kick him in the balls, but all her fight dispersed when she saw what he carried.

'Hush.' The boy smiled down at her, but it was anything but friendly. He held a semi-automatic by his side. Betty could only stare at the boy and swallow the scream building in her throat. 'Alright, let's get on with it.' Camila was suddenly strolling into the room, holding a coil of rope and a roll of ductape sticking from her mouth. 'Sorry, honey.' She smiled widely at Betty, her voice muffled from the girl shrugged when Betty did her best to glare at her. 'It's just business!' she grinned sweetly.

Betty struggled to speak, but the beanie-wearing boy was already grabbing her, wrapping her arms around her waist. 'KJ, get a chair.' He ordered the redhead, who nodded and bounded into the kitchen, coming back with one of her mother's dining room chairs and setting it down.

'What?' Betty tried to tear herself out of Beanie-boy's grip, but it was almost impossible. 'What are you doing? I don't understand!' she started to cry, but beanie boy scoffed. 'Crocodile tears.' He muttered.

Betty was dragged, kicking and screaming, before being tied to the chair, her arms restricted behind her back. The three kids stood in front of her. 'I think that went pretty well.' Camila smiled, before offering her hand for a high five to the boy's. The red-head, or 'KJ' grinned, his gaze on Betty. 'Dad's gonna be proud.'

Beanie-boy smirked. 'God, you're such a daddy's boy.' He nudged the red-head, who shoved him back. 'Says the boy who cried all night when FP went out on business.'

'I didn't cry! I had hay fever.' Beanie- boy hissed. Though he ducked his head. Betty felt like laughing. What was happening? She yanked at the ropes twined around her wrists.

Camila rolled her eyes. 'Can you guys act, like, the least bit professional? This is our first gig and you're acting like children.'

Beanie-Boy scoffed. 'Are you kidding? Hiram hasn't even let you hold a gun yet.'

Camila snarled. 'Shut it, Cole! You know for a fact I'm ready to use a gun!'

Beanie-boy or 'Cole' grinned. 'Are you forgetting the time when you accidently shot that mobsters finger off?' he looked smug, and Camila shoved him. Hard. 'I was fucking thirteen!'

'Can we get back to the job?' KJ hissed, rolling his eyes. He almost looked apologetic at Betty.

It only lasted a few seconds though. 'So,' he took an intimidating step forwards, his expression darkening. 'Cheryl Blossom.' He murmured. 'We've heard you're worth a lot of money.'

Betty flinched. 'Who's that?' she hissed, and the boy frowned, his expression riddling with confusion.

Camila cut in, folding her arms. 'Don't play dumb, you stupid bitch.' She growled. 'Your father would pay a great deal of money to make sure you were safe.'

Betty stared, baffled. 'My father barely makes minimum wage!'

It was Cole's turn to frown. 'Wait,' he said. 'You are Cheryl Blossom, right?'

Review for more! :D Please feel free to tell me what you think! This will be updated every day this week. I have 13 chapters so far.