This is the third story in a series, coming after "Beggars Can't Be Choosers" and "Attempted Witness Protection." Does it stand alone? I am pretty sure no, but feel free to find out if you are so inclined!

And hey, to anyone who was (justifiably) ready to scream at me when they saw the last chapter running out of words REALLY quickly in AWP... I couldn't leave you hanging. You are welcome. ;) The scene after the very short Prologue is the one I mention at the end of AWP that does double duty as an Epilogue to that story and a start to this story.

Enjoy!

-Button

P.S. For anyone who is unfamiliar with the term: Debriefing is a word used in a variety of contexts, including for military POWs and civilians who have been abducted. It's a time set aside shortly after the event/mission/whatever ends, and it is meant to do two things: gather information about what just happened, and to jump-start the recovery/reintegration process.

Debriefing also (colloquially) refers to processing an event in a less formal context, and in the field of Psychology it (more or less) means "revealing and explaining deception after the fact."

This story is about all of that.

AND there's a plot. :-D

(please review, 'cuz I am in WAY over my head with this one...)

Prologue:

He'd been trained for this. Jughead could fight harder and stay alive for longer than anyone would expect just from looking at him, and he was entirely confident that he could buy himself precious time.

There was only one problem:

Brand wasn't coming for him this time.

Jughead could almost conjure the feeling he'd had with Brand that everything would be all right - that someone would always rescue him and the bad guys would never get away with this - and suddenly he longed for that innocence. Even false assurances meant comfort; comfort meant staving off the feelings of horrible realization and bone-deep terror.

But he had been trained for this, and so he was no longer naive. Jughead knew that without Brand, buying time only meant delaying - prolonging - the inevitable. And he was scared.

Jughead really wished he'd thought all of this through before he'd gotten himself into this mess.

Chapter One:

"What's one positive change you've seen over the last several weeks?"

"Well, he's spending time with that dog now." FP hated the mandatory counseling with a passion.

He tried to play along, though, since he'd already lost Jughead twice - first to Brandon, and then to the FBI for debriefing. Jeopardizing custody now was not an option.

"Let's talk about that. What's going better because of the dog?" The skinny man in the suit leaned forward with a saccharine sincerity that was unfortunately very real. Sincere counselors were far more likely than lazy ones to seriously consider the pros and cons of dismantling a family.

FP had grown to despise people who were 'just trying to help.' Even worse were the people 'looking out for the best interests' of anyone involved - especially Jughead's best interests. Those plans were somehow always based on massive disruptions to their tentative new routine, and invariably hinged on someone other than FP taking charge of parenting.

So he'd play along in counseling.

"He's got a friend. He gets out, and he's usually in a better mood after. Sometimes he's more interested in talking."

FP figured he should be grateful for that. The counselor who ran the mandatory session always encouraged gratitude, and FP had long since learned that was a useful buzzword to work into conversations in this office.

"How does that make you feel?"

"Grateful."

FP saw the counselor write an approving note. Cha-ching, one more hash mark in the keeping-custody column.

He just wished two things were different about Jughead's new companion: that it wasn't in training to be an attack dog, and that it wasn't owned by drug dealers. Two details that seemed conveniently to escape Jughead's notice despite his near-daily visits to collect the almost-full-grown German Shepherd from its worn patch of dirt and wave politely to the perplexed owners of house and dog.

FP wouldn't be sharing that in today's session.

"What would indicate growth and progress for Jonas in this area?"

Jughead's legal name was still screwed up. FP tried not to be more irritated about that than he should be - it was just a detail, and as soon as he figured out what had gone wrong in the paperwork this time around they'd have it fixed. Hopefully.

"I'd like it if he initiated conversation. With someone other than that dog, I mean," FP tried to keep his tone neutral.

They'd passed the house in the car one day and it was one of those rare moments when Jughead seemed to really notice something that was going on around him. He was suddenly staring out the passenger side window at the dog, nose practically pressed against the glass, and FP knew right away that this was something different.

And Lord knew, they needed something - anything - different.

The world's largest jury of his peers seemed to agree. FP found all of the counseling awkward and stilted, but he'd quickly come to the conclusion that going alone was the lesser evil. At least for these appointments he didn't end up sitting in a semi-private waiting area with Jughead, bracing himself because any people who happened to come by would know at a glance why they were there - because they recognized his boy from the news.

If it hadn't been something a kidnapper would do - had done - FP might have looked into dyeing Jughead's hair. Something.

They certainly could use the privacy and anonymity. Things had been all kinds of messed up with Jughead, pretty much from the word go. FP knew that his own contribution to that mess had begun when he climbed into that SUV to be reunited with his son, only to finding Jughead leaning into his kidnapper's embrace like they were father and son - a visceral impression that was not helped by the discovery that Brandon legally was Jughead's guardian at that point in time. Fred had probably saved everyone's lives in the SUV that day with his calming presence and way with words.

It didn't help that everyone later responded like FP had been an idiot - as if he should have expected to find his son fully imprinted on his captor of six months. Apparently it was some twisted form of survival strategy, and hadn't FP wanted survival for Jughead? (how exactly was he supposed to answer that?) The counselors' harsh judgment of FP's parenting flowed freely during those sessions.

It also didn't help that everyone bought Brandon's cover story. FP had learned quickly that he only sounded like a conspiracy nut when he expressed any doubts about 'Brandon Davies, special agent.' It had taken all of his self-mastery, but FP had finally seen clear to publicly sign on with the story that Brandon was certainly making real enough now - and Jughead seemed wholeheartedly to believe, in any event.

Even Fred, who had witnessed enough that this should smell more than moderately fishy, had accepted the flashy credentials that had suddenly been waved at everyone to magically make Jughead's kidnapping - indoctrination - torture into nothing more than 'the price of freedom.' FP had a bad taste in his mouth when it came to media catchphrases these days.

More mind-boggling still, the official story was that Jughead had sincerely believed himself to be a hostage, kidnappee, and forced participant in criminal activities. Yet he was often called an 'accidental hero' since Brandon claimed that he'd kept their undercover status a secret from Jughead for much of their time in Toronto - for his protection. Somehow nobody wanted to acknowledge that this version of events meant that fear and coercion had been Jughead's only reality.

Even the professionals missed that tiny detail, calling him a 'hybrid case' and vacillating back and forth between abduction protocols and military reintegration strategies.

FP could have lived with much of that - gotten over it - but the lack of information and details about what had actually happened might just do him in. He was most sickened by the vague outline of a story that he'd been given about Jughead's 'cover being blown' and 'Agent Davies' rescuing him after a single night of being brutalized by Jameson's people. That story would cover nicely for almost anything imaginable, over any conceivable timeframe, and it seemed particularly damning to FP that nearly every witness was now conveniently dead.

"He's talking though, right?" The sincerity was dangerously strong all of a sudden.

FP tried not react to that tone, but this question had all the earmarks of something that might be headed for the losing-custody column if he wasn't careful.

The counselors had tried to sell FP on debriefing as a silver bullet, if not a cure for all ills, and - they insisted - it would not just be yet another abduction and forced separation, so FP should stop calling it that. Those counselors had been awfully confident: there had been high hopes and wild promises.

Debriefing hadn't fixed the troubling dynamic in the SUV, though. Nope; largely classified, the forced debrief with the FBI, agencies unknown, and psychologists for both military POWs and for civilian abductees had apparently had the sole, oh-so-helpful effect of crushing Jughead into a quiet, tentative shadow of his former self.

When he'd first come home he hadn't spoken for nearly a week.

FP would have loved to blame Brandon for that change in his son, but he'd seen Jughead before and after debriefing. Brandon might ultimately bear responsibility, a position FP eagerly took whenever the subject of blame arose, but the proximate cause for Jughead shutting down had - without question - been the debriefing process.

Thank God Mary Andrews had moved back from Chicago to help FP straighten out Jughead's legal guardianship, make an attempt at straightening out the mess FP had somehow made of his name change (that rankled so much more than it should), navigate their total shutdown of media access and interviews once Jughead was legally a minor again (seriously, Brandon? You needed to steal another two and a half years of his life?), and then wade into the surprise battle - a horrifying development - to get Jughead released from the debriefing when the FBI had made moves to rendition him for time beyond his original sentence.

Or whatever all that was called. Once the counselors' rosy view of the process had been debunked, FP had a hard time viewing Jughead's debriefing as anything other than an imprisonment or forced deployment extending beyond the terms they'd agreed to. Particularly after he saw the state in which Jughead came home.

"My boy? He's-" make it sound real, FP coached himself mentally "-expressing himself more every day. We're all very grateful for that."

Jughead was still eerily silent much of the time.

FP had read what he could find in the public record about Jughead's captivity in Toronto. What little had not been classified or buried in the inaccessible court documents for Carter's trial had been published everywhere by a twenty-four hour news cycle that seemed to think that twenty-three hours a day was about the right number to devote to the international controversy that Brandon and Jughead represented. But FP had been counseled again and again to be patient with Jughead himself and to wait for him to be ready to talk. To let him express himself on his own terms.

"And he's expressed an active interest in a pet. That's not unusual for someone who feels like humans have let him down. It's a very promising step, and I think this is real progress, FP." The sincerity had backed off and now the tone was full of overly expressive empathy with a generous side of condescension. Good. That meant they'd swung back toward the keeping-custody column.

FP supposed he could blame the counselors for anything that happened with the drug dealers then, too, because it was for all of these sorts of reasons that FP had held his peace when Fred suggested that Jughead ask the German Shepherd's owners if they would be willing to accept free dog-walking services.

Fred technically didn't know they were drug dealers, but FP was sure that even Fred couldn't be that blind. The house was on a less affluent street in Riverdale, but even so it looked as sketchy as houses come and was definitely bringing down real estate values.

Jughead's original query had not been met with enthusiasm from Trigger's owners (they were unsurprisingly confused and suspicious), but it also had not been shot down. And so Jughead had begun dropping by their yard unannounced and taking Trigger out for hours at a time... even as FP noticed the dog beginning to show signs that it was being trained to attack trespassers - any strangers - and fast becoming dangerous to anyone who encountered the large pup without the presence of one of the residents of the drug house... or Jughead.

This was not what FP had pictured 'progress' looking like, but he figured he would just have to take what he could get.

The Serpents were firmly at arm's length in order to keep the custody police happy, but they would look in on the petty drug dealers if the need ever arose. And the whole situation in that house was apparently so pathetic that it was very unlikely to escalate into anything more dangerous than a tragic overdose when someone eventually made a fatal error in the supply chain. Unpleasant, but also unlikely to affect Jughead.

FP actually worried more about Jughead taming Trigger too effectively and getting the pup overly habituated to running in their pack of two. That could easily end with the owners putting a bullet in the dog and starting fresh with something more vicious.

Which would no doubt represent a 'setback,' in the parlance of their family counseling. Couples counseling, FP privately mocked it, since it was just him Jughead in those sessions.

"It's probably a very good sign for his return to school. That's coming up soon, isn't it?"

FP nodded.

Hopefully getting Jughead back into school, at long last, for the final weeks of the year would help. He could reconnect with friends in a more structured environment, do something other than run around in the woods with his dog, and then if the worst did happen with the pup - he would hopefully be less devastated.

Mary Andrews had done a huge amount of work with the school district to ready everyone for Jughead's reappearance in the classroom, and FP was hopeful about that as well.

"How do you feel about that?"

That was an easy one. 'Hope' was another buzzword with these counselors. In this case, though, FP had to admit he understood why.

He didn't even need to hope for much. Anything would be better than the vacant stare that had become his boy's default expression.

00000

Jughead sat on his twin mattress on the floor of Archie's bedroom, staring into space. He knew he should probably go and do something, but he couldn't come up with anything he should be doing.

Brand hadn't sent his books yet, and Jughead honestly felt paralyzed whenever he thought about his college reading list. That was still in Toronto as well.

He could go cook something. His stomach growled in response to the thought, but Jughead didn't feel like risking getting trapped in a conversation.

Jughead knew that his silence during the final days of debriefing - the time of captivity that extended past their previously agreed-upon end date before Mary Andrews had pitched enough of a fit that they had to let him go home - had freaked everyone out.

Technically he could have walked out at that point and just gone home, but he'd been so afraid they would bring charges - and not just against him - if he tried. There had been far more than 'veiled' threats to that effect. Jughead had also been under the impression that he was not allowed to say no to anything. It was the FBI, and resisting a 'request' had already not worked out well for him. Folks back home had thankfully realized that he couldn't - wouldn't - fight back on this new request to extend the debriefing, and they had stepped in and pulled the plug on the FBI on his behalf.

After that clear show of support and protection, even Jughead had been surprised when his first week home with friends and family had involved quite a bit of silence.

But it seemed like there were just too many possibilities in every statement of every conversation. Jughead would be thinking through them all and then look up to find that the conversation had stalled, become awkward, and then recovered and moved on before he'd even managed to formulate a response.

Maybe he had brain damage. The doctors hadn't thought so, but there had been a question of oxygen deprivation from being gagged, hooded, and then zip-tied. What did doctors know, anyway?

Jughead stood up and started rifling through his very limited clothing options for a jacket. Late May had been very chilly for Riverdale so far, and people were talking about it being a hard summer for crops. Brand still hadn't sent his clothing, and FP hadn't been up for shopping - and Jughead wasn't sure he wanted to think about it either.

He was putting on a jacket a minute later, but didn't know where he was headed. Maybe Trigger was out.

"Jughead?" Fred knocked on the doorway since the door was ajar.

Jughead made brief eye contact to acknowledge Fred. He'd regained his voice in large part, but still relaxed into silence when he could. Fred always let him, which he appreciated.

Fred took in the jacket. "I was just going to ask what you want to do this afternoon. I've got some errands to run for Andrews Construction and you can ride along if you want."

Jughead understood that everyone had been given orders to force him into 'regaining autonomy in his decision-making.' He just wished they'd respect the fact that he often didn't know what he wanted.

"Where?"

Fred smiled broadly, which seemed awfully patronizing considering it had been a one-word response.

"I've got some supplies to pick up at the lumberyard, and I thought we'd get something from Pop's to treat everyone. I bet Trigger's available for a ride-along, too," Fred seemed to recognize what the jacket signaled, "but I'm gonna need you to keep him on a leash if we take him."

Jughead usually took Trigger to places where he could be off-leash, but that had not gone well the last time he'd had Trig in Fred's truck and left him there alone for a few minutes on a construction site. The dog had seemed to be auditioning for a remake of Cujo when Jughead returned to find two laughing construction workers standing almost in range of Trigger's flashing teeth. They were lucky Trig hadn't been able to worm his way out through the partially open window.

Jughead obediently turned to grab the flexible leash he'd bought for Trigger with his first withdrawal from the fund that had been set up for his education and expenses. Probably by Rose, but Jughead knew better than to say his name out loud. An 'anonymous donor' had set up a fund for FP as well, apparently because he'd been so moved by their story, and that was as much explanation as they were going to get.

So far Jughead had spent approximately fifty dollars of his enormous fund. All of it was on Trigger.

"Betty's helping her mother with the gardening in front of their house," Fred had started down the stairs and Jughead followed. "You could go say hi. I've got one more phone call, to make sure everything's lined up and ready. We'll be back in time to make dinner, too, so be thinking about what you want."

Pizza. Croissants. Jughead blinked. This was a large part of the problem: a lot of what he wanted he couldn't say out loud or everyone made That Face.

"Okay," Jughead said simply. He managed a grimace in place of a genuine smile and went to say hi to Betty. His former girlfriend.

Or so he guessed, since they hadn't talked about it since he'd returned from debrief, and fair enough. He'd left thinking it would be forever, so she officially had a free pass for ghosting on whatever they'd had so briefly before then. He caught tantalizing glimpses of her routine pretty much daily from Archie's window, but so far couldn't talk coherently with her to save his life.

Fred watched Jughead walk out the front door and was left to wonder for the millionth time whether they were doing things the right way. They were all so far out of their depth, and the progress was so slow that it was nearly invisible. What made it most frustrating was that they could all sit in a room in silence and see the wheels turning for Jughead - he was weighing, processing, and connecting things like crazy; you could see it past the carefully blank expression he'd begun relaxing into - and that whole world was inaccessible to any of them.

At least Jughead had Trigger, and soon he'd be back in school as well. Fred really hoped this was the right way to do things.

00000

"Jug!" Betty waved enthusiastically from where she was kneeling over the flower bed. Her tone was too bright and her smile didn't match her eyes. Her ponytailed hair had a streak of dirt in it, like the sporty gardener version of a fashion statement.

Jughead tried not to stare at the dirt and to think about brushing it free for her. He made it all the way to a genuine smirk this time, hoping it would help smooth out whatever came next. It had become hard to predict what new mortifications were in store for each and every day. "Hi."

"Um," Betty stood up and her mother gave her an expectant look from where she continued kneeling and weeding. "How are you today?"

"I'm-," Jughead sifted through the information he had about the day. "I'm going with Fred to Pop's."

"Okay," Betty's smile got a little brighter and her expression transitioned from overly indulgent into slightly fake.

Crap, that hadn't come out quite right. Jughead's eyes went back to the streak of dirt and his stomach suddenly hurt.

"I'm good."

"Uh-huh," Betty's smile was nearly frozen now, and it looked like she was sifting through information in her head too.

This wasn't awkward at all.

"We're taking Trig," Jughead held up the leash, as if Betty didn't know that Trigger was a dog. He felt like slapping himself in the forehead. But that might make her feel guilty. He dropped his hands back to his sides. Held them there tensely. Didn't look at her hair.

"Oh," Betty had tried to like Trigger for Jughead's sake, but she was obviously terrified of the large dog. Why in the world had he mentioned Trigger? "That sounds-,"

"Betty, can you please help me with the weeding?" Alice gave Betty a look, as if Jughead wasn't standing right there and couldn't tell that she was trying to give her daughter an out from this conversation.

Which was probably a mercy killing at this point.

"Jughead?" Fred called from across the street.

Apparently everyone could see he was drowning here.

"See ya," Jughead waved, itching to do something - anything - with his hands. Then he realized how awkward that was since he was approximately two feet away from Betty. Ach.

"Yeah, sure, Jughead," Betty smiled and, hesitating a little too long, punctuated her statement by mimicking his waving gesture.

This was horrifying.

Jughead turned and jogged to the truck.

"That went well," Fred said mildly.

Jughead wanted to cringe, but he didn't want to make Fred worry even more. Instead he stared out the window at nothing as they pulled out of the space in front of the house.

As they drove to pick up Trigger, Jughead's hand reached down to his pocket where he'd tucked away the note. It wasn't like anyone else would understand it, so he didn't have to worry about someone seeing it or reading it.

Nobody had flagged it in the 'fan mail' Jughead was inexplicably receiving and usually didn't read closely - it was typically heavy on demands or conspiracy theories - but as he'd shucked this week's mail out of the envelopes and sorted it for shredding or saving, this one had stood out immediately. Just three words:

Keep lying, kid.

Brand obviously couldn't sign it, and Jughead didn't think he'd be able to identify his handwriting with a gun to his head, but he was certain this was their first contact since Jughead had left Toronto.

He wasn't alone.

00000

Please review! This is a serious reach for me, so I'm going to need more reassurances than usual that things are making sense and hanging together (or feedback if they are not!). This story is already kicking my butt (and has me hooked). I hope you enjoyed!

-Button