Chapter Twenty is my reward for making it through the demands of this week intact. Flourishing bow just for that! :-D

Living Lucid Dream, awwwwww - I love the Clark love so much. :-D He'll be around, I think. That's definitely his tag line now, too: "A huge dork and a hero" is every bit as good as "an officer and a gentleman." :-D I'm so glad you're liking Sweet Pea and Alice as well! (I'm a sucker for it too, though I spent a lot of brain power considering whether it was overly dangerous to wear an ill-fitting helmet... ;) The texting was fun to write, and I'm glad it raised intrigue and was fun to watch play out! Fred is getting to be more involved in things, and this is unfortunately his reward. :-D Your predictions are astute as always... and I hope you like this chapter! (also, mentions of sequels make me far too happy... I might have a problem... :-D)

Guest, thank you for the lovely review! I thought Alice had quite the mic drop moment with FP, yes; she really doesn't pull punches. I'm excited to see how things develop with Sweet Pea and Alice as well, and I'm glad you're liking their dynamic (and FP/Brand working together well for once!). The boys did pretty well, I agree - I think they're maturing and learning to work together, whether or not it serves them as well as it could in all instances. Also, you are very, very welcome; it is my pleasure, and your faithful notes make it even more fun to write. :-D

Enjoy!

-Button

00000

Archie slowed to a walk so he could think more clearly as he traversed a beautiful suburban neighborhood and, just as this block belied his impressions of the Southside in general, he was pretty sure that not everyone in the Southside was an enemy.

It just felt like it.

The FBI was dangerous; the Serpents were dangerous; the non-Serpent Southsiders had a grudge against Jughead's dad that had somehow extended all the way to Archie because of their 'famous friendship.'

It really seemed like they had been betrayed by someone who had been pretending to be a friend, so any offer of help might also be suspect. If Archie walked up to a house, it could be that the occupants would try to keep him there - and maybe even attempt to turn him back over to the kidnappers.

Archie wasn't sure that his reasoning was logical, but he also was not sure he could take a chance. It was unclear what options that left him with, though.

And then, as if in a mirage, he saw the perfect person standing on the sidewalk a block away.

"Gunnar!" Archie broke back into a run.

This was fantastic: Gunnar was already an enemy, so that guaranteed that he had not betrayed their trust.

There was no trust to betray.

Archie could be sure of where he stood with him; now he just needed to convince him to help.

"What are you doing in the Southside?" Gunnar watched Archie approach on the sidewalk, giving him a very odd look as he took in the dust and dirt from Southside High's unplanned demolition. "You look like you just... crossed the Gobi Desert or something."

"I need help, Gunnar. A phone," Archie blurted. "Do you live around here?"

"Yeah. I'm getting the mail." Gunnar gestured toward the mailbox he was standing beside. "My phone's inside."

"Oh. Uh, can I come in?" Archie asked.

"No way. You think we want a target on our house? Everyone knows you're Jughead Jones' best friend. This is pretty much the last safe neighborhood in the Southside, and now that the Serpents are leasing space-,"

Archie suddenly had an idea. "No, no. Of course you don't want a target on your house. Or on your family. You're completely right. Which is why you're going to get me off of your lawn, where the whole neighborhood can see us and might get the wrong idea about what's going on here."

There was a long silence as they eyed each other tensely.

"Fine. Get inside. Now." Gunnar appeared to have been swayed by his logic.

"Thank you, thank you-," Archie moved to follow Gunnar. "You won't regret this."

00000

Jughead was pulled roughly away from Clark and his wrists and elbows were swiftly zip-tied behind his back once more. A man held his arms so he could not even attempt to run, while another stood beside him - presumably to act as backup if necessary. Not that Jughead would have tried anything, considering the number of guns that he could see.

Clark was grabbed as well and held tightly by two men, even as he pled for Jughead's medication to be returned to them. A fifth man simply waited, assessing the situation and covering everyone with his handgun.

"He's really hurt. He's just a kid - a junior in highschool - and you don't seem to realize how injured he is. His father beat him up; he almost died." Jughead's jaw dropped. This was definitely not part of the 'legend' that they had briefly discussed.

"You took him by mistake, I promise. I think he needs a hospital, and you have to at least give him his painkillers." Clark took a deep breath and shot Jughead as reassuring a look as he could manage before he continued. "Please. You can hold me for as long as you want, but you need to drop him off somewhere so that he can get medical help. It will take a lot of heat off of the search, too."

The men ignored Clark; they looked upset, but not about Jughead's condition or the fact that it was continuing to go downhill.

"Where's the other kid?"

"Great." The man standing to the side sighed heavily. "We now have an FBI agent and the gang leader's kid, and no instructions for what to do with them at this point - and that other one's going to bring the feds down on us in no time flat."

"That... is quite the field promotion, sir," Clark attempted. "And his father's got issues, but he's not in a gang. Your information is-,"

One of the masked men holding Clark turned toward him, and had clearly run out of patience with his contributions. He backhanded Clark before he could attempt to explain further.

Clark spat blood and gave Jughead a scared look and a shake of his head; apparently Jughead looked like he was about to try something stupid.

"Tie him up - this time so he can't get loose. We're dumping the dead weight before the FBI sends the big guns after us."

Jughead's eyes widened and he felt like he might be sick again. He tried to move toward his friend - to do whatever he had to in order to protect Clark -, but he was jerked back by the man who was holding onto his zip-tied arms. He gasped as his ribs were wrenched by the movement.

"You need those meds, huh?"

Jughead looked up at the man mutely, trying to process what he'd just learned.

They might be about to kill Clark. They knew who his dad was. They were working for a third party. Jughead tried to figure out what he could say that might help the situation - and help Clark.

"One pill or two?"

"Please, don't hurt Clark-,"

"One or two?"

"He's not an FBI agent. He's just- we're both just-,"

"Shut up, Macgyver." Clark was being hauled away, toward the parking lot. "Give him one. If he throws it up, try another one. But don't try more than that - he might overdose."

"Come on. They're in the van. We've got to get somewhere far from this disaster while we wait for orders. What a cluster."

Jughead shook his head. Clark would be dead long before he could get to help.

"What about this seems like a negotiation?" The man started pulling Jughead toward the parking lot where the others had taken Clark.

Jughead planted his feet. Gritting his teeth, he tried an escape and ignored the blazing pain through his ribs as he broke free.

And then he winced as his hearing exploded and a clump of grass was crushed right beside his feet. Someone had fired a gun.

"I don't want you throwing up in the van, either." The man gestured for Jughead to walk ahead of him, and seemed entirely unperturbed by his pathetic escape attempt. "Let's go. Keep your mouth shut, and if we put you on the phone, you say only what you're told. One word out of line and we'll kill your friend."

Jughead shot a look toward the other men. He could no longer see Clark, but he was suddenly a lot more hopeful: maybe they weren't planning to kill him after all.

It was also probably for the best that Clark didn't hear that threat.

Jughead submitted willingly, figuring he didn't have any other option at the moment. He might even be able to help if he complied for the time being.

He was hustled toward the van. Where his pain pills were. To wait for orders, whatever that meant.

Then it clicked: the man probably meant orders from Agent Donn.

Jughead doubled over, retching painfully.

"Get that out of your system here. Do not do that in the van."

00000

"Why are people converging on an office building that's been leased by the Serpents?" Brand asked FP.

"Is that a rhetorical question? This is starting to look like Toronto all over again." FP frowned. It was definitely not press, and there was only a lone cruiser so far among the surprising number of vehicles that were in the lot they were approaching - but they'd clearly been scooped.

Tall Boy was walking out of the building, and appeared to be flanked by a number of Serpents.

"Oh. Wow," Brand said as they pulled into the parking lot.

They suddenly had a very clear view of what had summoned everyone to this location: smoke was emitting from a large hole in a wall of windows.

FP threw the vehicle into park and scrambled out of the driver's seat to get a better view.

Brand pulled out his cell phone; he was staring at the screen as he got out of the car. "Oh, okay."

"What's okay?" FP stared at the damaged building. "Have they been found? Are they hurt?"

"A bomb went off while we were en route here. I don't mean 'okay' so much as 'that explains people being here.' And explains that hole in the building. Let's go."

They jogged forward. Brand sized up Tall Boy, who had halted in the doorway of the building to wait for them while the other Serpents started getting into vehicles and onto bikes. "Are those your guys, FP? Or are they likely to be in the faction?"

"No idea." FP thought about that for another second. "I think they're my guys."

They were. Tall Boy approached FP immediately as they neared the building.

"Those traitors thought brick and mortar would hold a Jones." Tall Boy grinned, but then he gave FP a meaningful look and spoke as if in code: "I used my best judgment."

"You don't have any 'best judgment,' Tall Boy. You set off a bomb near my son?" FP moved past Tall Boy to investigate the destroyed portion of wall, and saw that the storage room beyond was empty of people. "You're telling me that Jughead's here? He was being held by Serpents?"

"He was being held here by people employed by the Serpent traitors. At least, that's what someone was bragging to someone they really shouldn't have been bragging to. And that bomb wasn't me." Tall Boy smirked. "A smoking crater. I like his style. I can see why you thought Jughead was ready for you to come home to the Southside. He's not here now; he must've took off. But you don't need to worry, FP. I've already got Serpents - loyal Serpents - looking for him all over the Southside."

Brand climbed through the hole; he didn't see an easy way to get at the door to the room, which meant it was probably a longer walk than he wanted to take the time for. He'd worry about prints, ballistics - or whatever it was called after an explosion -, and all of that later.

"He's right - the bomb went off inside the room. They blasted their way out, FP. I see the kid's shoeprints; he was here all right."

"You brought some kind of a... tracker?" Tall Boy watched Brand curiously.

"I stole him away from the FBI." FP leaned into the hole to see what Brand was investigating. "You sure they're his prints?"

"Ni-ice," Tall Boy ducked so that he could see through the hole as well.

"Are you asking if it's possible that anyone else with roughly his shoe size bought the same pair of sneakers at some point?" Brand shot FP an irritated look. "Three people were tied up in here, they got themselves free, and one of them has been throwing up bile. Probably the one with cracked ribs and bruises all over him, since hostages might not get unfettered access to pain pills."

FP grimaced. "Where would they have gone? How long ago did all this happen?"

"No more than ten, fifteen minutes ago," Tall Boy offered. "The cops are talking to a few of the guys. Don't worry about that either; we'll keep the police running in circles for you, FP."

"They must have made a run for it. I didn't teach the kid to do this, FP." Brand shook his head at the remnants of the explosion and the configuration of materials in the room. "I'd have taught him to get all of the accelerant behind the protective barrier. They are very lucky they didn't trap themselves in an inferno. Clark must have hidden depths and a side of stupid."

"Or maybe it was the teenager who just spent two weeks following a demolition crew around like a puppy." FP sighed. "I didn't tell Fred what he was up to."

"Hey, don't feel bad - that might be what got them out of here alive." Brand began climbing back through the hole. "Any idea which way they went, Serpent?"

"Tall Boy." The gang member was still studying Brand critically. "At least one was running through the neighborhood across the road."

"Wait - you saw them?" FP turned on Tall Boy; he was obviously angry about this information being delayed. So was Brand, for that matter. Maybe this gang member wasn't quite as loyal as FP thought. "Which way were they heading?"

"We didn't think anybody'd get far. The redhead was the only one that we saw, and that was before we got here to the parking lot and realized it meant anything," Tall Boy shrugged. "We figured we'd deal with the traitors first, since we had the element of surprise."

"You got them?" Brand glanced back into the hallways of the office building before returning his attention to scanning outside the building for any sign of Clark and the teens.

"We only got two of 'em, but I hear tell that the other traitors are being picked up all over town; it sounds like someone got wind of who was doing what." Tall Boy grinned dangerously. "Three men can keep a secret if they're all dead."

Brand tried not to react to the ominous misquote.

"Anyway, we know the redhead went that way," Tall Boy pointed toward a residential block across the street, "but that's all."

Brand shook his head. "Great. Jones, Clark, and Andrews could be anywhere. They haven't called yet, but it shouldn't take them long to get to a phone."

"We'll want some of Jug's pills on hand for when we find them," FP said. "I'll make some calls."

That was smart. Brand needed to figure out what was going on here. It sounded like the boys were not in immediate danger, and it would probably be fastest to wait for one of them to call Brand or FP - or Mr. Andrews.

And oh look, the FBI was arriving in force. Perfect timing.

Brand waved as he stepped back out of the building through the shattered windows. He was glad to see that Fred Andrews had come along for the ride, too, though from this distance it looked bizarrely like he was handcuffed.

Then a less welcome vehicle pulled into the parking lot: Alice and Sweet Pea had decided to turn up on the scene, on a motorcycle. Brand sighed. The way things were going, it would probably be the warrior queen and her crew driving up next.

00000

"Dad, he just needs a phone," Gunnar was standing between Archie and a gun.

This had escalated quickly.

"Mr. Helgason, I understand that this is a very stressful time-," Archie had heard his father use this lead-in at least a hundred times, "-but-,"

"You what? You do not understand." Mr. Helgason was not responding the way most people reacted to Archie's dad. "This is not a 'stressful time.' This is the future of our neighborhood. Our children. You walk in here, and the next thing we have is people thinking we're in bed with FP Jones - or with the FBI, for that matter - and the civil war comes here next."

"Dad, I really don't think-," Gunnar was - astonishingly - somehow on Archie's side.

Which was the side of rationality, so maybe that should not be quite so shocking.

All the same, it was heartening. Unless it indicated how very far gone Gunnar's father actually was, in which case it was disheartening. Because Mr. Helgason was the one with a gun.

So.

"You're right." Mr. Helgason's words sounded promising for a moment. Then he continued. "You don't think."

Okay - it was officially less than promising.

Archie and Gunnar exchanged worried glances before returning their focus to the man holding a gun.

"What would you propose?" Archie had heard his father break out that line as well during difficult situations. "I'm sure that we can find some common ground and work this out. We probably just need to be a little more creative in how we go about finding a solution."

"Who is this kid?" Mr. Helgason demanded of Gunnar.

Gunnar shrugged, clearly deciding that keeping his mouth shut was the best strategy.

"The way I see it, we have a common goal," Archie tried again. "We both want me gone from here, and back to the Northside as quickly as possible. Now, if we think through our options-,"

"Sit down." Mr. Helgason finally just pushed Gunnar out of the way so that the gun was pointing directly at Archie. "I need to think, and if you give me one more corporate catchphrase or any of that crap, I'm going to hurl."

Archie started to sit down on the couch.

"No - wait - forget that. You're taking a shower before we go any further."

Archie's eyebrows shot up.

Unfortunately it was an upstairs shower with no likely escape routes; but it was a shower, which was not a bad thing. Gunnar loaned him some shorts and a sports jersey, and then they all returned to the living room.

"All right. Sit tight. I've got to give this some thought."

Mr. Helgason was still awfully agitated, but at least his couch would remain clean. Archie sighed. Some people had the strangest priorities.

00000

Alice was trying to work through the logic, but it was not making sense.

FP had joined some Serpents in the parking lot, right about when Alice and Sweet Pea - and the FBI - had arrived, while two unfamiliar men in Serpent jackets were obviously under arrest.

Agent Davies seemed to be calling the shots, but he kept checking his phone and seemed to be getting more worked up as the minutes ticked past.

Mr. Andrews was in handcuffs, but he looked resigned, and maybe even relieved, instead of worried or upset.

Everyone seemed to think that Jughead and Archie were 'safe, but missing.' Alice had thought that was probably their status before they'd discovered that this building was the most likely spot for a traitor-Serpent base of operations connected to the Southside High bombing.

It seemed like maybe the relatively minor explosion that had taken a bite out of this office building was evidence that Archie and Jughead had been taken hostage, and were not being held any longer - and yet nobody had any idea where they were now.

If they had escaped, they'd made a run for it. But so far neither of them had called for a ride or to let anyone know that they were safe.

Betty's car pulled into the parking lot. Alice regarded that group thoughtfully. Sweet Pea had stayed with her, opting not to join FP and the other Serpents for the moment. Joaquin was with Betty. So they had two locals in their group: Joaquin and Sweet Pea might be their best bet for figuring out where Jughead would have led Archie and Clark if they were trying to get to safety on foot in the Southside.

Betty approached Alice, eyeing Sweet Pea's jacket but not commenting. "What's going on?"

"I'm pretty sure everyone thinks that Jughead and Archie were being held here, but they escaped-," Alice gestured at the still-smoking building, "-and left here on foot. The FBI arrested two Serpents who were involved in the bombing, and a bunch of people are tracking down the rest of them based on Joaquin's information and the literal truckloads of evidence in the building."

That much had not been spelled out, but Alice was watching them work and it was pretty obvious that there was evidence, lots of it, and that the two men who had been arrested were not the extent of the team that had pulled off the Southside High bombing.

"Who's looking for Jug and Archie?" Betty was confused. "Did they find Clark?"

"Clark's missing too. I think everyone's waiting for them to find a phone and call." Alice shrugged. "For some reason everyone seems confident that they're fine, and just took off on their own."

"But they haven't called yet?" Betty looked over at Davies, who seemed to catch her eye across the parking lot. Those two had their weird bond thing, and they did stuff like that. Betty's expression darkened. "Nope; Brand's worried. I'll go talk to him."

Alice sighed as Betty jogged off. "Sweet Pea, who lives around here? What places would Jughead or Archie know, that maybe wouldn't have a phone handy? They don't have their cellphones."

"I don't know. It isn't Serpent territory around here. It's kind of a holdout part of the Southside. That's why these office buildings are so useful; it gives the Serpents a foothold." Sweet Pea said that as if that made sense. "And what place doesn't have a phone?"

It really was strange. Maybe they'd run into trouble.

"Do you know anyone who lives around here?" Alice asked Sweet Pea. "We should start looking for them. Joaquin, Kevin, can you stay with Veronica and Betty and keep us posted? We'll text updates and let you know if we see anything."

"Sure," Kevin agreed easily.

They might only have half the story, but they could probably find out the other half faster than the adults - especially if the FBI insisted on waiting for information to come to them.

00000

"At least the Serpents are looking all over the Southside for our three. They'll spot anything out of place a lot quicker than law enforcement will," FP told Brand as he approached him and Betty. Veronica was hovering nearby, while Kevin and Joaquin had joined Alice and Sweet Pea by Alice's car. They looked tense. "What have you found out, Brandon?"

"We've got more information from the Serpents about the people who pulled off the bombing. They're hired professionals, and nobody seems to have their names. But the boys are just gone. At this point we can't wait for a call; you and I need to start searching for them too."

"This isn't a dangerous neighborhood," FP said, clearly confused. "Anyone should have helped them, or at least let them use a phone. The next few blocks in the direction they headed are families who moved here avoid the Serpents for a variety of reasons. They basically closed off this section of the Southside and circled the wagons. Had I known that anyone was considering leasing property over here, I'd have stopped that in a heartbeat. It's... inflammatory."

Brand considered that. "Inflammatory enough to make an insular neighborhood turn dangerous? Or are you talking about a bunch of pacifists hiding behind walls?"

"They are not pacifists," FP said emphatically, though he did not appear to be overly worried. "But they wouldn't go after teenagers."

"All right. Is there anyone around here Jones might know, or a location he might head toward? The rogue Serpent faction set up the bombing and he was carjacked while they were with Donn. He's probably skittish about the FBI as well as the Serpents. He'll look for a familiar face."

"I think the Helgasons are the only ones around here Jughead knows, but he'd avoid 'em. There's a boy his age; they used to live in Sunnyside not far from us before they bought into this neighborhood. There's a lot of bad blood there, and apparently Gunnar's a real piece of work now that he's gotten a little older."

"What's the bad blood?" Brand was not convinced that anything short of murder would keep the teens and Clark from seeking help at this point if they had any inkling at all that they could trust someone. It was getting dark fast.

"Helgason's brother was shot. Long time ago; nasty business; never should have happened."

"The Serpents shot him?" So. Murder it was. FP's silence was all the answer he needed. Brand frowned. "Forget everything you think you know about this neighborhood. They might go after teenagers, FP. There's a surviving brother who's Jones' age?"

"No. The nephew - Gunnar - is his age. Alex is the surviving brother; he's Gunnar's father."

"Okay. It wasn't a kid that was killed, then?" Brand sighed with relief when FP shook his head. That helped. Maybe a lot. "Then I think you're probably right. The kid would steer clear with that in the water, and if the locals have got some sense of moral high ground then they won't want to hurt them. We can always just knock on the door, though. Confirm. Let me get some things set up here and we'll go."

"Everyone will love that," FP said darkly, but he nodded. "Let's check it out."

00000

"New plan. We need you two shut down. Sit tight while I get the other one."

Jughead felt his head swimming with the hit of two pain pills - even though he'd insisted that was an overdose.

The man had ignored him and subjected Jughead to a very uncomfortable maneuver where he held the pills in Jughead's mouth, forced his head backward, and then painfully massaged his throat to make him swallow convulsively. Now Jughead felt wildly off balance, especially after going so long without relief. Bile was rising as his stomach churned, and he was beginning to feel seasick even in the motionless vehicle.

They had changed location, and thankfully done so before Jughead had begun feeling so sick from the pills, but he wished he'd had Clark along to help him keep track of turns; he'd been so dizzy that he'd even begun to doubt his own grasp of left or right, just as Archie had teased earlier in the day.

Jughead was sitting in the back of the van once more, in the space where the seats had been removed, and he leaned his head back against one of the van's sides. His captor reached behind him to double-check the zip ties on his arms, and then patted Jughead's face as if to wake him.

"Those are nice drugs, huh? Make sure you keep 'em down, but you can go to sleep."

Looking over at the masked man blearily, Jughead nodded.

"That should make things easier. In a little while I can put you all the way under and then you won't feel a thing."

That did not sound good.

Jughead wondered if he was losing time, too, when it seemed like the back of the van opened only moments later and Clark was shoved inside. He was disheveled, and his arms and torso were tied up with rope in a manner that was much more stringent than Jughead's restraints. New bruises were forming on his face, and he was silent but looked very upset to discover that Jughead was still a captive.

"Clark, it's okay - I think they just need to buy some time." Jughead was disoriented and felt very out of it, but somehow he'd developed a vague sense that that was the plan. "I think they want to, like, tie us to railroad tracks so everyone's distracted while they get out of Dodge. They're working for someone else; this isn't their fight."

Clark's eyes were like saucers and he was uncharacteristically quiet and docile as he was manhandled by the masked man into a position where his wrists could be secured behind him to an anchor in the van.

"I mean, uh, metaphorical train tracks," Jughead tried to explain, since his words had not had the desired effect. Clark looked as though he'd been treated a lot worse than Jughead had been since their failed escape attempt, which made him feel an almost overwhelming need to encourage his fellow intern.

"Like... a stalling tactic. We won't get run over or anything." Jughead frowned. "I think they're trying to distract Brand. Maybe he's close to making a bust."

"Hey. Cut it out with the speculating." The man who had secured Clark in the van turned to Jughead and began unhooking Jughead's suspenders from his work pants. He called out of the back of the van. "Got anything I can stick in this kid's mouth? He's begging for a gag and his sleeves are disgusting."

There was a lengthy silence and then someone offered a wad of what looked like gauze.

"Oh. That works too." The man dropped Jughead's suspenders to the floor of the vehicle and gave him a serious look. "Deep breaths, kid. With any luck you won't wake up until it's all over. Just relax and enjoy the long sleep. It's a good deal, too, if you think about it. No bad bosses-," the man clamped the fabric over Jughead's mouth and nose as he spoke, "no nasty divorce or brat kids. You don't even look old enough to have had a root canal."

Jughead barely had time to piece together that the man was suggesting that he'd never wake up again from being drugged into unconsciousness. As he held his breath and began thrashing in an attempt to dislodge the man's grip on his face, he could hear Clark yelling something about 'barbarians' and 'just a kid' and 'fullest extent of the law.'

"Calm down, you two. This is the dream, right? Everyone wants to go peacefully in their sleep." The man was smirking down at Jughead as the teen fought to get free - even just long enough to gasp a single lungful of air. "Someone must like you. This stuff costs money, you know."

Jughead was already woozy from the pain pills, so he couldn't tell if he was dizzy from holding his breath or from the drugs or from attempting to resist the man pressing the fabric to his face. All he was sure of was that it wasn't going to be long before he had to inhale, and then there would be nothing more he could do to defend himself.

Suddenly the masked man's grip on his face was dislodged - he was knocked off of Jughead and fell heavily against the wall of the van.

Jughead had twisted his body far enough that he was lying on the floor of the van. He gasped for air, sobbing, and his tear-filled eyes met Clark's terrified ones. His fellow intern had somehow managed to maneuver himself into a position where he could kick the masked man off of Jughead.

"Clark-," Jughead choked as he pulled in more air, but he continued forcing the words out hoarsely, "if you make it home, tell my dad-,"

"Oh, calm down. I was only trying to make things easier for you." The masked man was clearly furious as he pushed himself up from where he'd landed. "But after that little stunt? Forget it. Back to back; let's go."

The man pulled Jughead up into a seated position and roughly pivoted Clark around the anchor that he was secured to so that their backs were pressed together. He started unlacing one of Clark's formal boot-style dress shoes, yanking on the bootlace impatiently as he did so.

"I'm going to noose you together. Maybe then you'll stay still and quiet for five minutes. If you want to downgrade our job to body disposal, just keep on struggling. You won't get anywhere, and you'll take out your buddy's airway in the process."

Clark grabbed Jughead's wrists tightly behind himself. "Jones, we have to relax. We're going to be fine, I promise we'll be fine, but we have got to stay calm."

"Yeah. I got that, Clark." Jughead tried to slow his breathing, and he desperately hoped that his being sickeningly dizzy wasn't about to put them both in grave danger.

He straightened his spine as much as he could when the man looped the thick, unyielding bootlace around his throat and then Clark's so that the backs of their skulls were pressed tightly together. The lace hooked around an anchor higher on the wall of the van, tethering them both uncomfortably in place, and Jughead immediately wondered how strained Clark was with his wrists still anchored to the floor of the van.

"The game is simple: don't move and the noose won't tighten." The man jogged Clark's shoulder and they both whimpered fearfully when the slight motion caused the rough cord to cut into their throats.

The van doors slammed shut.

"Can you hold your position, Clark?" Jughead tried to take stock of his own body's complaints. "I think I'll be okay like this for a while, but my wrists aren't attached to anything. I'm sorry about- uh-," Jughead realized mid-sentence that he wasn't sure how to apologize for panicking over the threat of being drugged and then murdered while he was unconscious.

"Wow, Jones. I can't believe you're even trying to apologize right now. That was the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced, which is actually saying something after today. Who knows - he might have chloroformed me next and we'd both be dead right now. This might have been the only way for us to get home alive, and we just saved ourselves by fighting back."

Clark sounded like he was trying to convince himself, but his tone radiated sincerity. Jughead was relieved that he wasn't being blamed for their current situation, too, even though that seemed like a petty concern, all things considered.

"I think I'm stable in this position, so we're good for the time being," Clark continued. "Why don't you, uh, tell me a story; anything at all. We need you to stay wide awake, Jones, and you looked iffy when I got here." Clark's voice was becoming more strained as he continued speaking. "Tell me about Archer - or your dog - or Special Agent Davies. Just… don't move."

Jughead took a deep, uneven breath past the tight stricture around his airway. His neck was already sore from holding the stiff position, but so far his ribs and the rest of his body seemed comfortable enough. Jughead didn't want to think about the possibility that they'd be left like this for long enough that the painkillers would begin wearing off again. "Yeah. Good plan. I'll see if I can reach any of the knots you're tied up with, too. Um, do you want a happy story or a things-could-be-worse story?"

"The knots are over my chest, so you won't be able to reach them. They were impressed that we got loose, once they'd finished cursing me out over it and grilling me about you and Archer." Clark laughed darkly. "They're convinced that I'm the mad genius behind us escaping. Can you believe that? And they really didn't like that I know next to nothing about you two. I think you must be right that they're working for a third party; it seemed like they were trying to figure out what their employer wants with us. Not that I had any insights to offer."

Jughead winced. That explained the new bruises, and it also meant that Clark was in significantly more danger than he should be.

"Anyway, they made absolutely sure I couldn't get free a second time. And, uh, either type of story is fine. I just want you talking so that I know you're not about to kill us both by passing out and pulling this shoelace any tighter."

Clark's voice was surprisingly strong, in spite of their terrifying position. Perhaps the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing that they could do but wait had settled him down; Jughead could only speculate - and be grateful.

"Say something, Jones. I can only keep you alert if I know when you're fading, and I can't see you. Don't stop talking."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Jughead took another deep breath that seemed to startle Clark when even that small motion pulled against their tight bond. "I'll tell you about Trigger. That's actually both types of stories at the same time."

"Great. Just keep talking." Clark let out a long, slow breath. "And tell me if you start to cramp or need to shift your position. It's fine if you do; just let me know right away and don't try to tough it out or fix it on your own. We'll figure it out together."

"Okay. I will. You too." Jughead closed his eyes against the thought of trying to adjust his body weight - or Clark's - with so little give in the noose around their necks and such limited ability to use their hands for support and stability. If they did lose their balance, they might not even be able to call out to their captors for help before they both choked to death.

"And, Clark, if we do have any… mishaps… just start screaming for help as loud as you can. That's what Brand always told me to do. He also says that if there's no way to escape, the goal is to stay alive and in one piece for as long as possible. He'll come as soon as he can."

"Fantastic; then that's what we'll do. We have a plan and we're going to be just fine. Archer will bring help, and Agent Davies can find us if anyone can. We've got this." Against all odds, Clark had definitely found his inner zen.

Jughead was impressed. He was determined to hold out for as long as he could, but had to admit that he had somewhat less faith in their ability to hold their strained position indefinitely.

Or maybe Clark had just been the first of them to reach the logical conclusion that pretending to be confident would keep them alive longer.

"Now... tell me about Trigger." Clark managed to pat Jughead's wrists encouragingly. "I love dogs. I don't think I ever told you that before. What breed is he?"

"He's a German Shepherd. He's still mostly a puppy, but he's just about full grown now." Jughead focused on Clark's appreciative 'mmmm' response. "He's got this really intelligent-looking face, and he loves tennis balls."

"Oh, nice. That's such a great breed, and I love that age. How's his training going? Are you crate training him?"

"No crates; that's a long story. We're on a strict schedule, though, and that's been working out well," Jughead began to explain. "He went through a lot before I adopted him."

"Rescues are the best." Clark sounded like he was actually smiling.

"Definitely." Jughead didn't quite smile, but he could feel that his heartbeat was slowing to be closer to normal. "When I first met him, he had a family. I didn't know anything about them at the time, but they were happy to let me walk Trig for them."

They both settled in for the story.

00000

The van doors flew open with no warning, startling the captives.

Clark and Jughead each grabbed the other's wrists painfully tightly in an effort to keep the other from pulling against the bootlace.

"Finally; you were a royal pain to find. We'd better get paid real good for all this hassle." A Serpent whom Jughead thought he might recognize from swimming at Crystal Lake in the spring climbed into the back of the van. He was wielding a large knife.

The Serpent let out a low whistle as he took in the visual of Clark and Jughead noosed together. "These guys were not messing around. Man, you two look cozy. Should I leave you like this while we call your dad, Jughead? I'm at least getting a picture for FP; that should make this a real good sell for us."

Both Clark and Jughead stared at him, eyes wide, as the Serpent held up a phone and took a photo of their predicament. Apparently the Serpents had located the bombers - and wanted to take their own shot at holding them for ransom.

"Ha. I'm only kidding. I'll untie you and your FBI agent. But if you could act real scared and manage a few more tears," the Serpent swiped a rough hand over the tear tracks on Jughead's face, ignoring his furious glare, "that would probably get us some points."

The Serpent cut the noose and both Jughead and Clark immediately slumped with relief. Jughead's zip ties quickly followed, with just a single jerking yank of the sharp knife.

Jughead slid across the slippery metal of the van's floor, away from the Serpent who had cut him loose. He rubbed his wrists and then his aching elbows while a second Serpent climbed into the van and the two gang members worked together to slice through the ropes holding Clark's arms to his sides.

Moments later they were both untied.

They had no idea where they were, how many Serpents waited outside of the van, where the carjackers were, or what might happen next.

But when Jughead threw himself onto the larger Serpent and started pulling one of the man's arms behind him painfully - forcing him to drop his knife - while kicking the back of his knee with every ounce of strength he had left, Clark caught on quickly to the impromptu plan.

Clark was able to use the element of surprise to shove the other Serpent out of the back of the vehicle. Jughead was right behind him when Clark jumped out, losing his unlaced boot in the process, to do his best to fight for their freedom.

Clark found himself outmatched by the Serpent and took a painful hit to his side, but Jughead calmly ducked a swing and then landed a damaging blow to the man's abdomen, laying him out groaning on the pavement. Then Jughead began tugging Clark toward the front of the van, wincing as pain started to overwhelm even the double dose of painkillers he'd been given.

"You think the keys are in it?"

"Start praying, Jones. You look like a ghost, by the way - if there are keys, I'm driving."

"They made me take two pills. I'm actually feeling it less now, but they're strong," Jughead confirmed.

As they scrambled into the front of the van, Clark took the driver's seat and both cheered when they saw keys dangling from the ignition - and the vehicle started right up.

Then the sound of movement on metal caused them both to freeze momentarily.

"I think that was the other Serpent getting out of the back." Jughead pushed Clark's shoulder impatiently. "Go, Clark - we have to go now."

Clark jammed the gas pedal down, and they careened through an abandoned parking lot toward the street.

They were free. They'd managed to stay alive. They just needed to figure out where they were, and then get back to the FBI.

00000

Can I claim this as 'less of a cliffhanger than it could have been' since I didn't stop one scene sooner? :-D I'll be loving your notes (any and all are encouraging and enjoyed!), and I really appreciate your reading along. I've got a big job over the next chapter - or maybe two (I think we're getting there!), so your good wishes are very much appreciated. I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

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