Tapping. At first it was annoying, which was really the only reason why Jughead noticed it. He had been tending to a rowdy customer, a grouchy old man who had looked ready to explode. He was a red-neck type with tufts of hair sprouting from his mostly bald head and he sounded like he chain-smoked fifty cigarettes a day. Jughead had been humouring him at first, because honestly. He was sure the guy was a drunk. It was clear in the way he stood, or tried to stand. How he was always slightly off balance no matter how hard he squeezed the counter with his wrinkled witch-like fingers. That's what Jughead had thought when the man had started pointing accusing fingers at him. The man's fingers resembles those of a witch. Which was perfect inspiration for the book he was trying to write.
The store he worked at was a 24 Hour gas station sitting on the outskirts of Riverdale. It wasn't exactly busy at the beginning of his shift. There had only been a small queue so Jughead thought he could handle it. But then as the day went on, and the overbearing sun caused him to sweat through three of his shirts, it became clear that the store was suddenly Riverdale's only source of water. So men, women and children alike has suddenly flocked there, grabbing as much soda, water and barbecue equipment as possible. Jughead was less than thrilled. It meant, instead of kicking back behind the counter and finishing his novel, like he'd been planning on doing, he was in for an afternoon of screaming children and "Can I talk to your manager?!" Normally, Friday afternoon's were pretty dead. Plus, it was in the middle of summer. Most of Riverdale were either knee deep in their garden flowerbeds or crowding the public swimming pool. Jughead had walked into work this morning pretty optimistic about finally finishing his last draft for his novel.
But of course, like everything in his life, his plans were ruined.
"I'm sorry, sir." Jughead cleared his throat and tried not to think about the queue behind the old man, which was getting progressively longer. "We don't have that specific type of wine." he wasn't even sure that name existed, or the man's irritating lisp on everything he said was affecting his pronunciation of the so-called wine.
"Well, get a manager!" the man hissed, and Jughead was sure a glob of spittle had just landed on his bottom lip.
He ran a hand through his dark hair which sat underneath his signature grey hat, a hat he had worn most of his life, and fixed the man with his best I totally know what I'm doing face. "My manager isn't here at the moment." he smiled politely. But it was with his teeth. Jughead wasn't lying. His manager, Mark, a forty-something year old man with greying hair and an addiction to gambling, had gone out for the day, apparently going to stake out baby clothes for his pregnant wife, Lucy. Reggie and Moose, two other employees who happened to be in Jughead's class, were in the storage room doing stock.
Well, that's what they said they were doing. Jughead was pretty sure they were smoking weed.
Jughead was starting to sweat under the shitty light-blue cotton t-shirt bearing the logo; "HADFIELDS" with a little cartoon turtle. His shift wasn't over for another three hours, and it was… he glanced at the digital clock on the old fashioned register. 15:45pm. "Hey!" The customer snapped him out of it, and he lifted his gaze back to the rowdy man, who had somehow gotten progressively angrier.
Jughead took a deep breath. He could handle this. "Sir." he cleared his throat in a way of grabbing control. "I told you we don't have that specific type of wine." he tried so hard to say it without gritting his teeth. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave as you're holding up the queue."
Tap, tap, tap. The noise came out of nowhere. At first, he ignored it, and he dragged in a breath. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to, um…" he stammered and stumbled over his words which caused his mind to go blank. His cheeks heated up, and his chest tightened. He took another deep staggering breath, before he forced himself to continue. "Sir," he tightened his grip on the edge of the counter. He could smell stale alcohol on the man's breath and he swallowed a gag. The smell was unavoidable at home. "If you don't leave the store, I'll be forced to- to…"
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Jughead's gaze momentarily left the stormy eyes of the old man, and he searched the queue of customers for the source of the sound. "I beg your pardon!" the man snapped his attention back, and this time he couldn't resist rolling his eyes.
"Don't you get it?!" he finally exploded, and the man stumbled a little, the fire in his eyes, the stubborn bitterness vanishing from his expression. "Leave!" Jughead hissed. His throat was thick with emotion and he was just about ready to lose the plot. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
His gaze snapped back to the tapping, and he once again scanned the queue of people for the source. It really wasn't helping. Jughead found himself leaning over the counter, squinting his eyes. But he only saw an impatient looking woman with a toddler tugging at her waist, a tired looking business man grasping three bottles of water and a teenage girl with long brown hair. Her eyes were glued to her phone. Jughead couldn't help his gaze skimming over each customer in the queue, which seemed to go on forever.
"What's going on here?" Jughead spun around at the sound of his colleague and classmate, Reggie Mantle's, voice. It was almost a relief. folded his arms and shot a glare at the old man, who suddenly looking intimidated. "Is there a problem, sir?" Reggie asked politely, his lips stretched into a giant gleaming smile.
The man looked like he might say something, but seemed to scrutinise the boy with beady eyes. Reggie was of Asian descent with short black hair and a trademark grin. Jughead watched the man's lip curl in disgust, but he didn't say anything. Reggie leaned forward, and Jughead could just about get a whiff of the boy's aftershave, which was a clever way of hiding the stale stench of weed. Which Jughead could still smell on his breath.
The smell of the aftershave however, was almost a godsend as he'd been stewing in his own sweat for the last few hours. It was the type of brand Jughead could never afford, even if he saved up for several months. There was a pine-fresh scent lingering in the air, mixed with something rich and biting. Chocolate?
"I believe my colleague has informed you multiple times we don't sell that brand of wine." Reggie said, and his voice was cool and confident. Reggie was everything he wasn't. "So," Reggie shrugged and offered an apologetic smile, which wasn't the least bit sorry. Reggie's smile reminded Jughead of a predator, a shark's baiting grin as it lurked under the ocean next to its unsuspecting prey. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
Jughead waited in tense silence for a face full of abuse. But none came. The man only nodded, muttering to himself, before turning and walking, or rather stumbling, out of the automatic doors and into the blazing heat. Reggie seemed proud of himself. He watched the man go with a triumphant grin. "Okay then!" he smiled brightly at the rest of the queue. "Who's next?" The woman with the toddler took an unsure step forwards, and Reggie shot her a tooth-rotting grin. "Hello there!" he started to tend to her groceries, and Jughead took a step back. "Jug, why don't you go on a break?" Reggie murmured, as he scanned a large bottle of soda. The toddler picked up a candy bar and held it hopefully. The woman sighed and took it off of the kid, before planting it on the counter and pulling out her purse.
Jughead nodded, relieved, and quickly made his way away from the cash register and hurried towards the back room, where he was sure he was going to catch Moose with a joint.
He had his hand on the door handle, about to yank it open, when he heard it again. Tap, tap, tap. He turned around, uncertainly. Wondering if this was some kind of prank. He'd seen them on YouTube. Teenagers like him, but with fewer brain cells and a limited vocabulary, following unsuspecting members of the public around, making animal noises, or just being a pain in the butt. Except when Jughead twisted his head around, his hand still clutching the door handle, he didn't see a kid or camera in sight. There was a figure a few feet away, swamped in sunlight, so their identity was hidden as the late-afternoon sun decided to blast its warm rays through the thin glass ceiling that had been replaced nearly three times because of vandalism.
Jughead squinted, straining his eyes. The figure took a few unsteady steps forward out of the shadows and he finally managed to make out a teenage boy, about the same age as him, standing a few feet away.
"Uh, hey," Jughead turned away from the door, and got a good look at the guy, who was about Reggie's height with broad shoulders and a head of rich red hair, strands of it splayed across his pale forehead. The boy was pretty attractive, Jughead thought, his gaze going over every detail of the redhead. The speckled freckles on his cheek, brown eyes caught in a deer-in-the-headlights look of fright.
"Okay, if you're here for something, ask my manager, or my colleague-" Jughead started to say, but the boy took a stumbled step backwards, his mouth opening, no sound coming out.
"Whoa, hey!" Jughead gasped out a startled breath, which slowly became a laugh. "It's cool, I'm not gonna eat you!" He waited for the kid to grin back and laugh, but the look of wariness, of fear and paranoia never left his expression. Instead of introducing himself, or awkwardly laughing and walking away like Jughead expected, he continued to stare at him, with almost a look of desperation. Which made Jughead feel incredibly uneasy.
The boy was stood awkwardly at the end of the Chilled Food aisle, and didn't make any move towards him, and Jughead, not knowing what else to do, stared back, furrowing his eyebrows. Jughead frowned, taking the guy in. He looked like one of Reggie's team-mates, a football player type. He could practically sense the muscles straining under the kid's light blue t-shirt.
Which looked discoloured, Jughead realized. Jeez, had this kid changed in over a week? He decided the answer to his mental question was no, he hadn't. The signs were easy to spot. Strands of greasy hair sticking to his forehead, his clothes- jeans and t-shirt which seemed to be permanently glued to his slim frame.
It wasn't that the boy looked menacing, or scary, in any way. It was his expression that chilled Jughead to the core. His eyes were blank, his lips were pressed together like somebody had sewn them shut.
When Jughead really looked, he noticed the boy's lips pursed, as if he was fighting against trying to say something. "Are you okay?" Jughead didn't expect his voice to be so hoarse. His throat was dry and felt like sandpaper when he swallowed. He ran his tongue over his parched lips and sighed, straightening up and folding his arms. The boy didn't reply, only continued to stare at him. Jughead noticed the guy's eyes narrowed, as if he was deeply studying Jughead, really looking into his soul. And, Jughead realized, his heart plummeting into his stomach, the boy's hands were visibly shaking by his sides. "Hey," Jughead made sure his voice was soft, when the boy's eyes widened to the size of football's when he slowly took a step forwards. "Hey, you're shaking."
The kid seemed to notice and shoved both arms behind his back, his gaze continuing to bore into Jughead's. Jughead couldn't help it. "Do you need a drink?" he studied the guy's chapped lips, and before he could stop himself, he was slowly taking another step towards the boy. He had no idea what he was doing at this point, but the guy, even if he looked like a senseless jock, also looked scared out of his mind.
"Do you have a phone?" when Jughead attempted another hesitant step, the boy staggered backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet.
What the hell is wrong with this kid? Jughead wondered, and at that moment, he swore he glimpsed a look of recognition in the boy's eyes, as if he'd heard the thought.
"Shit, sorry!" he halted abruptly, holding up both of his arms. "No, it's okay, I'm staying here." He offered the boy a smile, and the boy, after running a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth, nodded slowly.
"What's your name?" he figured he'd start slow. He didn't care about keeping professional anymore. The boy was clearly distressed. But the boy just shook his head, his eyes suddenly looking panicked. Then he seemed to steer himself, taking a shaky breath and pointing at his neck with a slender finger, before swiping it down the curve of his throat and then he was stabbing at his Adam's apple, his gaze never leaving Jughead's.
Jughead got it automatically, and for some reason his blood ran cold. "You can't...you can't speak?" He couldn't help stammering. This was getting too weird. He'd met people with throat infections, yes. He'd met mute people. But he had never met anyone like this boy. Who seemed to have no voice at all.
Jughead hesitates. "Was the tapping you?"
The boy only nods solemnly.
"Okay, look," Jughead said softly. "Do you need help? Do you need me to call someone?" Alarm bells seemed to be going off in his head now. The boy stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, which had several reddish stains covering them. He seemed to be concentrating. "What is it?" Jughead's voice was quivering, his chest tightening. This kid was really freaking him out. The boy opened his mouth, and Jughead thought he was going to speak. After quickly whipping around to see if there was anyone behind him, the boy seemed to hesitate before opening his mouth once again and mouthing something. He wasn't sure at first, because he couldn't lip-sync to save his life. The boy's expression seemed to come to life, as if he really was speaking, Dark eyes widening in terror as soundless words flew from his open mouth. Jughead felt hopeless, as hopeless as the mute kid.
But then, as if by magic, the words were suddenly clear in his head, spoken by a boy with a strained voice which bordered on hysteria. The voice was soft first, seeping into his mind, twisting through his thought processes and lighting up his thoughts. But it grew louder, louder in his head as the boy's mouth opened and closed, his lips forming words which slipped into Jughead's mind, sending shivers ripping down his spine, Goosebumps prickling across his neck and back. Everywhere. Suddenly, the voice was everywhere. It exploded into his thoughts, bounced from ear to ear. It was behind him, next to him- in every memory he had ever had, lurking, screaming and crying out for help. While the boy stood there, no sound coming out as he screamed directly into Jughead's skull.
"You have to help us! I don't have much time, they're going to come looking for me, oh god, I'm so weak. I can barely do this. You need to listen to me. The girls. My friends. They're-"
Just like that, the voice was gone, as if it was dragged back through Jughead's thoughts and out of his ears. He took a shaky step backwards as his heart thundered against his chest, every part of him screaming to run. But the redhead was clawing at his hair, mouthing words with no voice. The way they popped from his mouth so colourfully, Jughead knew he was swearing. Eventually Jughead found his own voice, after struggling to locate it. He could still hear echoes of the boy's voice in his head. How had he done that?! He opened his mouth, the question clinging in his throat, when another voice startled him. "Archie, there you are!" a man seemed to come out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows and gently grabbing hold of the red-head's arm. Jughead could only stare, his lips twisting as the boy- or 'Archie' tried to yank his arm away, but the man only chortled. "Archie, for goodness sake, stop acting like a child."
The man looked around Jughead's father's age with longish dark hair. He was wearing a white shirt, khaki's and sandals. Jughead was lost for words as he watched the man grab hold of the boy's arm once again, his grip too tight to be anything but friendly.
"I don't think..." Jughead swallowed when the man turned to face him, dull blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. Archie stared at him too, a mixture of confusion and hope lighting up his expression. "I don't think he wants to go with you." He took a shaky step forwards, ignoring every instinct inside him telling him to just turn around and run. He would run the six blocks home, back to his dad's trailer. Then he would call the police.
But he couldn't run. Archie's words, the ones he had somehow screamed into Jughead's mind without uttering a syllable, had hit him hard. The kid was in danger. Real, honest to god danger. The man seemed amused, however. Not the least bit threatened. "Oh, is that true?" his tone was patronizing, his lips curling into a smirk. Archie was still in his grasp, his head bowed, a wash of his red hair covering his eyes.
Go. Jughead had to bite down hard on his bottom to lip to stop himself from reacting to the voice which was once again in his head. It was Archie. But this time his voice was soft, weak. Please just...just go. The boy looked up, his gaze automatically finding Jughead's. Brown eyes bored into his own, and Jughead gritted his teeth. There was no way he was going to let that man drag the boy out of the store. He folded his arms across his chest and smiled at the man politely. "Can I have some ID? Or any other means of proof that he-" he points to Archie, "Is related to you?"
"Ah, yes. I'm...I'm Fred Andrews, and this is Archie Andrews, my son."
Stop it! Archie hisses in his head. They can hear me, they know that-
Jughead nods. "Yes, but...can I still see some ID?"
The man looks startled for a second, and lets go of Archie, who stumbles out of his grasp. "Certainly." He scoffs out a laugh, pulling out his wallet and what Jughead presumed was his ID. "Do you really want proof that Archie is my son?" Jughead glances at the man's ID for a second, and takes it hesitantly, before glancing at Archie, who was inconspicuously shaking his head. He's... a... -eader! Archie's voice slithers in and out of his mind like a radio going out of range. ..He...'s..Using...m...ds...ID! Jughead resisted the urge to shake his head as a static-like screech suddenly rang in his head, and Archie could only glare at the floor, his hands tightened into fists.
The ID looked pretty genuine. Jughead stared down at the plastic card the man had handed him, and scanned for faults. He turned it over and over in his palm, trying to find some kind of proof that the man was a fake, and something was clearly wrong. His heart clenched when he glanced at Archie for a single second, and caught the utter hopelessness in the boy's expression. The boy was staring at him, and Jughead wondered if he was trying to do the strange trick he could do, sending telepathic messages into Jughead's thoughts. But from the look of frustration and anger on the kid's face, it looked like he was failing.
"Read it then!" the man snapped, folding his arms. "I don't have time for this!" Jughead ignored the man, biting his lip, and glanced down at the card, letting his gaze flicker over the bold writing scrawled on the plastic.
FRED ANDREWS
AGE: 38
SEX M
Next to the man's supposed details, there was an unsmiling picture of him. Jughead handed back the ID and sent a panicked glance at Archie, who was refusing to look at him. Did you not h...ear me? The boy's voice rings out in his head, and he hisses out a breath. He's...using...my...d's...etails! ...lease...ust...o!
Archie's voice became less coherent, and ended up being another gush of white noise in his head. Jughead felt sick. The smile on the man's face put him on edge. He had half a mind to ask for some kind of proof that Archie was in fact his son, but he couldn't seem to get his words out when Archie's supposed father sent him an uneasy smile. "Right, now we've established I'm not a kidnapper," the man laughed out loud and beckoned Archie to follow him. "Come on," Jughead caught the tail end of a sly wink the man sent Archie's way. "Unless you want to say goodbye to dear Veronica?"
Jughead felt chills down his spine, and the man must have noticed. "Veronica is his hamster," he grins at Jughead. It almost felt like he wasn't even trying to be subtle. That he was deliberately playing games. "Bless her, the little thing is on her last legs." That changes something in Archie's expression. The boy straightens up and smiles stiffly at Jughead, before nodding at the man and following him back down the assorted aisles of the store. "Hey, wait!" Jughead managed through a startled breath, and started to follow them. Archie didn't look back, and there was no voice in his head any-more. Jughead was halfway to the door, pushing his way through customers, his gaze on the two figures rapidly getting further away from him. Jughead watched, swallowing hard, as the man wrenched Archie's arm, violently yanking him back through the parking lot so the boy had no choice but to stumble after him.
"Jug?" Jughead's head snapped to the familiar voice, an almost sense of reality leaking back into his life after so much had happened in so little time. Reggie was standing behind him with his signature smirk twisted on his lips, eyebrows cocked in confusion. Jughead's gaze slid from his colleague, to the last dawdling customers making their way out of the store. "You okay, dude?" Reggie waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey, hey, Jughead!" and Jughead blinked. After a second of trying to find his own voice, he managed a nod and slapped Reggie's hand away. "Yeah..." his gaze strayed on Reggie for a few more seconds before it inevitably wandered over to the parking lot where he could no longer see that startling red hair glinting against the sun.
"You sure?" Reggie cocked his head, wariness taking over his expression. Jughead nodded, straining his neck to keep an eye on the parking lot. "Yeah," he murmured. "Reggie, I'm good." But he wasn't even looking at the other boy. Reggie laughed. "Okay, sure you are, man. Jesus, Jughead you look like you've seen a ghost!"
Jughead twisted back to meet his colleague's frown, his eyes wild. "Reggie, I think I just ..." he didn't realize he was shaking until he grabbed Reggie's shoulders. "I think I just saw a boy being taken against his will."
Reggie stared at him a moment longer before chuckling. "Dude, I think you've had too much heat." When Reggie tried to feel his forehead, Jughead swiped his hand away with a hiss. "I'm serious! I..." he hesitated for a second, and Reggie was clearly enjoying it. "You what?" the other boy rolled his eyes with a grin.
Jughead took a breath. "I...I know this sounds crazy, Reggie. But the boy- he- he couldn't speak, and instead he was talking into my head, I could hear it almost perfectly, and-"
It took him a few seconds to realize that he sounded completely out of his mind. He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. He was shivering, despite the fact that it was nearing 104 outside. "Yeah, I think you've got heatstroke, buddy." Reggie grinned. "Go and get some air, I'll look after the store." Before Jughead could protest, he realized that's what he needed. Air. Outside. The parking lot. He needed to find Archie and fast.
Jughead managed a shaky nod. "Okay- I'll...you're right. I'll go and get a drink of water." Reggie smiled and glanced at his watch. "Then, what the hell, go home, Jug. I think you need an ice bath."
Reggie walked away, still chuckling to himself, and Jughead, after considering calling the cops, walked out of the store, cringing when he felt the heat hit him. It washed over his skin, and he felt like he had just stuck his head in an oven. He shook his head, biting back a hiss. Archie had said a van, that's where his friends were, and presumably where he had been dragged back to. Jughead scanned the parking lot, counting three cars and what looked like a white transit van with shutters. "Shit," he lowered himself into a crouch and darted across the lot, passing the cars, until he reached the shutters, slamming his hands into them. "Archie?!" he hissed. He quickly checked for any sign of the man before beating the shutters with his fists. "Hey, is anyone in there?" he pressed his ears to the shutters, causing them to rattle loudly. Nothing. Silence. Jughead cursed, twisting his head so he could squint through the glare of the sun roasting the side-walk. There was no other van parked. His heart plummeted. Had it already gone?
What are you doing?! Archie's voice was suddenly pouring into his head and he nearly gasped out in relief. Instead, he pressed his face against the shutters, his shaking hands digging in his jeans for his phone. "I'm gonna get you out, okay?" he hissed. "And I'm calling the cops!"
No, you need to run! Get the hell out of here!
Jughead wasn't listening, even if Archie's voice was more hysterical than normal, attaching itself to every thought process he had. "Can you stop?" Jughead hissed, wincing when the boy continued to scream into his head. He needed to get them out. He quickly checked once again for lingering bad guys, before hoisting himself onto the small pedestal underneath the shutters. "Shit, shit, shit!" he pawed at them, grasping for some kind of lock or button to open them. But there was nothing. "How do you get the damn shutters open?!" he smacked them with frustration.
Listen to me. Archie's voice is faint, but the shutters suddenly rattle loudly as if someone had hit them from the inside. You need to go. Back in the store, I was a pawn. They want... the boy's voice rattles back into static and Jughead presses himself further into the shutters, his hands grasping for a way out. "Say that again! I- I can't hear you!" he tried to grasp for some kind of leverage, some way of holding on to Archie's voice. But there was just white noise.
"Are you looking for this?" Jughead whips around at the voice, nearly loosing his footing on the pedestal. He managed to cling to the shutters. Archie's 'father' stood directly in front of him, a single silver key dangling from his fingers. Jughead could only stare at the man's grin which stretched across his face like a Cheshire cat. The shutters rattled as he attempted to keep his balance, and he felt ridiculous. Though Reggie was at yelling distance, he knew that. Jughead swallowed. He could do this. "Let them go." He's surprised at how confident his voice sounds despite his rapidly beating heart. "The kids you have in the back, let them go."
Fuck! Archie's yelling now. And he winces when the boy's voice pierces his ear, digging straight into his brain. I told you to run!
He knows how stupid he looks. A sixteen year old kid wearing a work t-shirt with a fucking grinning turtle on it, not the least bit intimidating, but he manages to maintain his narrowed eyes and snarl.
The man chuckles. "I have no idea what you're talking about, kid." He clicks his fingers and the shutters on the van start to slowly roll up, and Jughead stumbles off of the pedestal, straight into the man's embrace. Though he's too busy staring at the van's contents to fight back. He only half-heartedly tried to yank away from the man's grip, but his gaze was stuck to what was inside. "Get off me!" he hissed, only for the man to tighten his grip. Jughead felt sick, his stomach rolling over, when the man's lip was suddenly resting on the bridge of his ear.
"Jughead Jones." The man laughed, his breath icy as he murmured in the boy's ear, sending shivers down his spine. "That is your name, correct?" the man chortles again. "I can bet you're wondering how on earth we know that, hm?"
And he was. Jughead slipped his fingers into his pocket, feeling along the dense sides of his phone. If he could just tap out 911. "How?" his voice was choked and barely decipherable. "How do you know that?"
Another patronising laugh. "Leave that to Betty Cooper, of course. Our own private Clairvoyant. Anyway, back to you, Mr Jones. What exactly have you got to offer us?"
He struggled, fear igniting his veins. "N- nothing! Just let me go! Let them go!"
"But don't you want to stay with poor mute little Archie, blind Betty and my personal favourite, Veronica Lodge?" The man is hissing in his ear once again and he strains his neck, trying to get away.
"That girl in there is Hiram Lodge's daughter. And we fucked her up, big time."
Of course. Jughead had heard it on the news. Hiram Lodge's daughter had gone missing without a trace. Yanked from the streets of New York.
Jughead could only stare at the van, at the redhead, Archie, as he knelt next to two other girls, a blonde and a raven-head. The girls were both curled up, both hidden by their hair, but Archie was staring directly at him, his brown eyes wide in disbelief and terror. I'm sorry. Archie whispered in his head.
"No real family," the man continues to murmur in his ear. "Just an alcoholic father." Jughead struggles, opening his mouth to cry out, but the man's sweaty hand is suddenly pressed against his lips, gagging his scream. This is bullshit! Archie yells in his mind. Archie suddenly gets up and lunges at the man, but something bounces him back and Jughead blinks when he swears for a second he see's a single white flash, like an invisible force field trapping them inside. But the red-head isn't done yet. Let him go! Archie slams his hands against what appears to be a white sheet of glistening energy and screeches in his head so loud that Jughead has to hold his breath to stop himself from crying out into the man's palm still covering his mouth.
"I think you'll be a brilliant addition to our cause." The man growls in his ear, and Jughead struggles, tries to shout for help, but no sound comes out. Before he knows it, he's being lifted, hoisted up, his arms pinned behind his back and shoved into the van, straight through the force-field he felt splintering into his body as he impacted with it. "No!" he found his voice, but couldn't quite turn it into a scream. He stumbled on metal flooring, slipping as he forced his hands against the barrier, beating his fists against the sheer white light. "No, you can't do this!"
The barrier didn't budge, and he simply stared at it, for a second he was completely transfixed.
"On the contrary, young man," the man gasped out as he knocked Jughead from his stupor and wrestled the boy to the ground. "I can."
"Archie," Jughead could only gasp out in pain, his face pressed against the floor, as he felt the entire weight of the guy holding him down, pinning his arms behind his back. "What did you do to him?" His heart sank when he felt the coil of rope fastening around his wrists. The man ignores him. "I don't usually tie them up," he says cheerily, shifting his weight off of Jughead's back and yanking the boy up. "But you're a little fighter, aren't you?"
Archie was shuffling backwards, his head bowed in shame. The blonde and Raven-head didn't move, and Jughead found himself being manhandled and shoved next to the blonde. The man forced him to sit cross legged and sat back to admire his handiwork, smiling widely. Jughead grunted, leaning forward and spitting in the man's face. So many words were clogging his throat, cries and screams and threats, but he found he couldn't speak. His chest seized up and he could only stare ruefully at the man as he pulled a roll of ductape from his jacket pocket.
"Now, are you going to promise me you're not going to scream?" Jughead stared at the piece of tape the man had ripped off. His stomach clenched and he scowled, before nodding reluctantly.
"Atta boy!" the guy patted him on the head happily, before stuffing the tape back into his pocket and backing out of the van. Jughead felt his heart clench when the shutters rattled loudly as they slowly descended, trapping him with the kids he tried to save. Before long, there's a mechanical grumble, and he slides into the side of the van, hard, when the vehicle thrusts forwards.
Jughead. Archie's voice was a whine in his head. He could feel the boy was near. I told you to run!
He was too angry, too frustrated and upset to reply. So he pressed his face into his lap and let himself sob into his ratty jeans. The movement of the van was making him feel nauseous. In the end, he had to look up to try and swallow the vomit crawling up his throat. But when he did look up, he found he was inches away from the blonde girl, the one he had seen seemingly asleep, with the raven head. Except she was fully awake now, sitting across from him. She too was cross legged, and when he really looked at her, he saw a halo of straggly blonde curls touching her shoulders and a face so pale she looked malnourished. Though what really captured his attention right then, were her eyes. Or at least her eye. Because the one staring at him was the brightest blue he had ever seen. Except it wasn't looking at him, it was staring straight through him. Her other eye was covered by a pirate-style eye-patch. "It's okay." She whispered, before closing her eyes. "I can see you, don't worry."
"But..." he started to say, and she shushed him. "When my eyes are closed, I can see." she fidgets a little, seemingly uncomfortable. "I can see more than I should."
Blind Betty. Jughead remembers the man saying.
He can only manage an acknowledging sound, before he leans forward in his restraints, wincing. The rope was starting to chafe. "Where are we going?" he finds himself asking, and he hates how broken his voice is, how childish he sounds. But the girl doesn't seem to mind. Her eyes are still closed, and she takes a deep shuddering breath which sounds like a laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Jughead scowls at her. "Try me." He growls.
The girl opens her mouth to speak, but instead another voice rings out. Female. "Don't speak to Betty like that, or I'll blast your eardrums out." Jughead twists his head to find Hiram Lodge's daughter shuffling towards him on her knees. She's beautiful, he has to admit that. She had long dark hair cascading down her back and olive skin glinting in the dim light of the van. Though he can only see the back of her.
"Veronica..." The partially blind girl, or Betty, murmurs, as if in warning.
"I'm kidding." The raven head mutters. Then she sighs deeply, turning her head to Archie, who's sat in the corner, his head pressed against the metal sides of the van. "Oh, Archiekins." She murmurs. "You've really done it this time. Now they're gonna Stitch him too." The girl's voice wavers sarcastically. "Well done!"
"Stitch?" Jughead can't help whispering. He struggles in his bonds, the word sending his heart into a frenzy. "What- what does that mean?"
Veronica shuffles closer on her knees, further into the light, so he can see her properly. Her face. He managed to hold back a cry, but the girl only sighs. "Oh, let it out." She grumbles. "Yes I know," she self consciously piles her long dark hair in front of her face, though specifically over the ruptured holes where her ears should have been. "I have no ears." But her smile flickers, almost teasingly. "So how can I hear you, huh?"
Ignore her. Archie mutters in his head. She's just trying to scare you.
Hiram Lodge's daughter giggles. "No, I'm not, Archie. I'm just telling the new boy how it is." Then she focuses her gaze on Jughead, who's half-wondering how on earth Veronica can hear Archie.
It's a psychic link between us. Archie replies almost automatically in his head. It's hard with you, because I'm just forcing my words into your head. When they... He hesitates. If they Stitch you, you should have a psychic link with us too.
Jughead felt like crying. He didn't want to have a psychic link!
Veronica's voice was almost sing-song, as she knelt next to him, swaying gently, her hands on her bare knees. Betty had wandered over to Archie, and Jughead could hear her murmuring to him.
"Here's the story of us," Veronica smiles brightly. But Jughead can see the pain, the resentment in her expression, because he was everything she wanted to be and more. Normal. "Archie the singer lost his voice, Veronica the model lost her ears, and Betty the brainiac lost her sight. Her gaze lingers on Jughead, and he tries not to cringe.
"I wonder what you're going to lose." she murmurs. Jughead tries to answer, tries to tell her that he's not going to lose anything because he's going to get himself and them out of there.
But then Archie's voice is in his head again.
I wouldn't be so sure, Jughead.
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