Chapter 10

"All my friends are heathens, take it slow. Wait for them to ask you who you know. Please don't make any sudden moves. You don't know the half of the abuse." -Heathens by twenty one pilots

Carlos watched from the darkest part of the woods along the left side of Pop's as Jughead cradled Betty to his chest before depositing her into the old Buick. He was careful to stay in place, leaning against an ash tree so as not to be detected by the keen eyes as he observed the grown up, blonde version of the kid he remembered from ten years ago.

Like Carlos, he'd changed drastically in the time span and not just because of the hair color. He remembered Jughead being a withdrawn, quiet kid, preferring to sit and write in a corner than join in with the crowds. But, the man before him now looked keyed up, weary, and hard as his blue eyes darted around the dark woods, waiting for a threat.

He knew that hunted look all too well.

The blonde hair had only given Carlos pause for a moment before he recognized him. However, if he hadn't been expecting to catch Jughead with Betty, if he'd assumed this man was someone else, well, he wasn't sure he would have known his real identity right away. Finding Jughead had been surprisingly easy, he mused silently as the slam of the truck door echoed in the quiet lot. Clearly, Betty was trying to hide him cleverly in plain sight and really, Carlos was chalking this event up to sheer dumb luck. But, it helped that with Joaquin's comment about her working Saturdays, coupled with his findings about when Jughead was last seen and his gut instinct that the young blonde had something to do with it all…well, Carlos figured it wouldn't have taken long to find him anyway.

No one ever stayed hidden from Carlos for very long. It was an innate talent he'd always had, one his father noticed early on and was only too eager to manipulate.

Sighing, Carlos pulled away from the tree and made his way quietly through the woods as Jughead and Betty pulled out of the parking lot. Finding Betty's apartment would be easy enough once he set his mind to it, but he had other things to deal with tonight.

"Bradley Barber." His murmured the name softly as he circled the man he'd seen earlier at the diner, all but wrapped up with a neat bow, arms slack and pulled behind his back and unconscious thanks to Jughead. He crouched down, slipping a hand into the man's pocket and pulling out his wallet. He rifled through the fake ID's and cash until he found the slip of paper he was looking for.

He read the scrawl a few times, the handwriting god awful and almost illegible, but it was what he needed. It was always best to know what price drove the others, to determine how many more he'd be up against in this twisted game. And to understand the guidelines they were following.

'T.K. Slow & bloody. 1m. Proof: dc or obit. Client requests crown hat delivered before payment.'

Carlos nearly laughed aloud at the parameters. Clifford Blossom was surely going crazy if he wanted to keep the fucking hat Jughead used to wear growing up. T. K. stood for thrill kills, another sign of Blossom's growing dementia, as it allowed whoever took the kid out to be as bloody and savage as they wanted. If any of them got a hold of Jughead, chances are he'd be kept alive for a few days until he was begging for the sweet release of death.

Pocketing the paper, Carlos sighed once more as he looked down at the man that was slowly waking up, tucking the wallet back in the man's pocket as he talked, "Listen up, Bradley, we can do this the easy way or the hard way…" The man's pupils weren't focused, yet, but when they finally did, Carlos let his best, blood chilling smile stretch across his face, "Have you ever heard of the Cleaner?"

It was surreal to say that line again, after all these year, but he found it tasted the same on his tongue then as it did now, like the sulfur of a match. When Bradley nodded, he let the smile get wider, more of a sneer than a grin, "Good. That will make this easy, because I am the Cleaner and you know what just happened here tonight?" He didn't give him the chance to reply, lashing out to grip the man by the throat as he bit out the words, "You almost ruined my hit and unless you want to be my next one, I suggest you beat it out of Riverdale and pass the word around to your friends."

He met the man's eyes, wide and fearful as he gasped around the strong grip on his throat, no doubt his mind racing with the rumors of his moniker. "I'll leave." Bradley finally got out, eyes flickering over Carlos, who'd taken off his turtle neck earlier when he'd sensed he might need to use the intimidation tactic, and collapsed back as Carlos released him. Bradley's hazel eyes snagged on the scar around his neck, catching on it and staring at the only real sign that Carlos wasn't lying.

Pulling out the Glock he'd tucked in at his back, using it to ensure the man's fear sent him running, Carlos stood fiddling with it, checking the number of bullets, and clicking the safety off and on before tucking it back away as the blasé words rolled out of his mouth, "Good, because I haven't killed anyone in a while and I've kinda missed the excitement of it all." He turned and walked away, knowing his easiness with killing often made others very uneasy.

When Jughead woke up the next morning, he was surprised once more to find that he'd slept soundly with someone beside him and more importantly, he hadn't woken up when she'd left. He stared at the empty space beside him, the covers flung back and over him, and he was awash with her scent of strawberries that clung to the blankets and to the very walls of her room.

He'd stayed up long after she'd fallen asleep, so he shouldn't be surprised she was awake first, and by the sound of it, in the kitchen making breakfast. Sighing, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and laid there for a few moments more, enjoying the soft mattress after so many years sleeping on couches and pull-out sofas. It helped, too, that it was Betty's bed and the peace he felt around her was infused into the very springs.

Some strange, small part of him never wanted to leave, wanted to bury himself in the blankets and mattress. It was the soft him, the boy who was fifteen with a crush on the pretty blonde who had a crush on his best friend. He'd thought that boy had died years ago, and was startled to find he hadn't. Only waking up in the days he spent here, with Betty Cooper, who was perhaps the most holy of humans to ever exist.

If he was going to die, why couldn't it be here?

A soft knock brought him from the hopeless direction his thoughts had turned in the wake of finding himself in her bed, and the object of his affections peered around the door immediately drawing his eyes to hers, "Oh, good, you're awake." She hummed, smiling as she stepped inside. She was showered and dressed in a light wash pair of jeans and a dark green emerald sweater that looked so soft he had the urge to touch it. The tears from the night before were gone and the only hint of her being attacked was a small, red line that remained at the base of her throat, peeking out from the V-neck of her sweater. "I made a quiche and a few homemade donuts." Betty told him, walking over to sit on the side of the bed.

He'd noticed she tended to bake a lot when she had things plaguing her mind. Which was a nice balance to his ability to eat everything. "Don't you have class today?" He asked, sitting up as she sat down on the bed, glancing over at the bedside clock that read 11:18 am.

She waved her hand, "I'm skipping today. I woke up this morning and I knew I was close to a solution for you. So, I started cooking and suddenly, I knew exactly what we needed to do." There was an underlying excitement in that last sentence.

However, his brows furrowed, concerned about that first sentence more than about his dark future and her wild plans, "Betty, you shouldn't be skipping class to work on my problems." He let the words out, coloring them in a dryness that hid how much it bothered him that everything about his life was currently disrupting hers. Jughead didn't even want to think about what could have happened last night if he hadn't shown up. If he hadn't started driving her to and from work. He'd have lost her. It was enough to shallow his breath and cause a panic to thrum up his spine.

What if it had been the Cleaner and not some idiotic hitman?

Betty moved closer, catching his gaze, brows mirroring his own as they wrinkled, "Juggie, I'm fine." It was like she knew where his thoughts had gone and she reached out and cupped his jaw, trying to bring him back, "I know what happened last night was scary. But, I'm not going to let that stop me. I have a plan and I really think it could work."

He didn't like how close she was because it reminded him of last night's awful kiss that caused her to cry, so he pulled out of her reach and stood up from the bed, putting much needed distance between them. "What's the plan?" He asked, half-heartedly. If they hadn't thought of a plan by now, he didn't really think there could be one, but the excitement that still ran underneath her determination gave him a touch of hope. Her long-lost brother plan worked, didn't it?

"The plan, dear Juggie, is simple. We find out the conditions of your death and fake it." Betty was standing, now, arms crossed and looking smug with herself.

Jughead mirrored her stance, crossing his own arms as he looked to challenge it, "You don't think I tried that in the beginning, Betty? The Serpents paid good money to one of the guys to tell Blossom I was dead. It never worked."

"Then there's a reason it didn't work! Maybe the guy took the money and ran? Maybe Blossom needs proof, like an obituary? You haven't forgotten that my father owns the town's only newspaper. It's morbid, but we could print you up a fake one and send it to Clifford. Maybe with one of the Serpents we trust, collect the money and start a new life for you?" She was pacing around the room as she rattled off the details, looking like her brain was running through forty different wires of thought as she tried to reason with him.

But, god did he love watching her, awed at her mind and her brilliance. She looked like an Angel of Justice, readying to fight for him, a mere human. Not much more than trash to most people, a member of a gang, a Serpent. The lowest of the low.

Betty never made him feel like that. It wasn't even just because they'd been childhood friends. She was just so good.

"I think…" She paused, jarring him from his thoughts, "I think I should go see your father. Talk to him, find out the details on your hit and find a way to manipulate Blossom. Fake your death, claim Blossoms' dirty money and save you." She crossed the room, forcing herself into his space and looking up at him imploringly with wide, green eyes that could provoke him to start writing poetry-if he was that fifteen-year-old boy again.

His arms were still crossed, a wall to keep her back, but he found himself dropping them as she closed in on his space, "Why do we have to see him? Why don't I just call Joaquin and ask him to look into it for me?" He didn't like the thought of her going to the Whyte Wyrm with no protection. If he could skip her being in the very heart of Serpent territory, it would make him feel better, "You know, they invented these things called cell phones." He added, dryly.

She nibbled on her bottom lip and he was so close to her that he thought for a brief second that he could nibble on that lip for her. He bit his cheek to bring him away from that thought, reminding himself for the umpteenth time of the last, disastrous kiss, as she finally spoke, "Because then I don't feel like we're doing anything. Leaving it up to others. We should be out there, not sitting ducks."

"The more we're out there, the easier it will be for the Cleaner to find me." He pointed out, trying to talk her out of going to see his father. Her plan was good, but why did they need to go back to the Serpents? Betty didn't understand the danger the Cleaner was, couldn't imagine the horrors he'd committed, even after everything Jughead had told her. He could see it on her face as she wavered between what she wanted to do and what would protect him.

"Then I'll go see your father. Or maybe Joaquin…I mean, I saw him yesterday. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary if I called him up?"

She looked thoughtful, not realizing right away that her innocuous comment caught his attention completely. "When did you see Joaquin?" He wasn't sure Joaquin hadn't heard her voice on the phone, but if Joaquin was hanging around her than maybe that was a sign he did hear.

She tilted her head at his biting question, "He was at the diner for lunch. Did you know he has an older brother?"

Jughead could barely breath at her question; his entire body tensing immediately, realizing he hadn't mentioned one crucial detail that rarely crossed his mind due to the fact that he tried not to associate his best friend with such a monster, "Y-you met…" He couldn't get the words out and he pressed back against the wall, the horror of her being in the diner and interacting with the Cleaner in her adorable, happy waitress way made him suddenly very nauseous.

Betty was reaching out, grabbing onto his elbow and raking her other hand through his hair and down his neck to his shoulder, "Jughead, what's wrong?"

She was too innocent to get into this mess, too pure to be dragged down into the dark, bloody underbelly of Riverdale. Already, she had been too close to the Cleaner than he ever would have wanted her, "Betty, Joaquin's brother…" Her face was too sweet, tilted up at him and looking at him expectantly, "is the Cleaner."