"Don't worry, Diana, this is just procedure," Sheriff Keller assured, settling into the metal chair across the interrogation room table from mine. "You're a known associate of the Jones family, so I have to ask you a few routine questions to establish your alibi and possible knowledge of the incident."

I sighed, but nodded, readjusting my crossed arms. "I get it."

"Alright then. Where were you on July eleventh?"

It was a bit of a loaded question, but it was also so simple. Where was I on July eleventh? I was at work. MLJ Comics, from seven am until eight pm. I told the Sheriff just as much. To which he skimmed through my anorexic file in front of him on the table, and skimmed over my employment records. "And where were you before that?" he asked, glancing up from the pages at me.

"At home, showering," I exhaled. "You can ask my nine year old sister."

"Diana, in your own words, what would you say your relationship with FP Jones is like?"

"Flammable. Broken glass. He was there for me when no one else was, so, yeah, there's a twisted sense of loyalty there. But...I don't know. We've had some disagreements lately."

The Sheriff titled his head, an eyebrow rising in intrigue. "What kind of disagreements?"

"The arguing kind? My boyfriend, my life—you name it, we disagree on it. But we always kind of...make up. I don't see what that has to do with Jason's murder."

"Just getting the lay of the land," the Sheriff tried to seem light-hearted, but he was sensing my disgust of the situation with every word. This was a highly stressful situation in every sense of the word. Jughead had already been grilled all morning. Now it was my turn. I thought it'd felt worse waiting in the lobby. But I knew then it was harder to answer the questions.

Sheriff Keller asked routine, simple questions. But at a certain point he'd changed topics to a normal conversation. Probably to make it easier for me to keep answering. He'd asked about school, how I was doing. If I talked to Kevin much anymore. I'd left out the bit about Kevin—technically—breaking into my house to get me a change of clothes, then helping me get out of the hospital when I shouldn't have. It was best that the Sheriff didn't know.

I'd owed Kevin too much to spill his secrets. He'd changed it back to questioning faster than i'd realized possible, in the most unexpected way. With a questioning look, he'd glanced at the file before looking back up at me, "When exactly did your affiliation with the South Side Serpent gang end?"

My eyebrows drew together. "My what?"

"You were picked up and held over night for...petty theft, when you were fourteen," Keller said, reciting the information in my file. "It wasn't hard to miss the snake tattoo on you when we brought you in. I'm assuming your involvement with them ended?"

Settling in my seat, leaning back, my eyes lowered to the table. Did it ever end? Not how I'd planned. Not how I'd hoped. My fingers tugged at the cotton bandage around my right wrist, resting in my lap as I answered him honestly. "Not exactly. They're my family, Sheriff. You don't just 'end involvement' with them," I said, lifting my eyes to meet his.

He seemed a bit surprised by that answer, but understood. "I see. And this boyfriend you mentioned...I'm assuming he has Serpent ties as well?"

It was rhetorical. I exhaled, nodding a little. The Sheriff nodded in return and promptly searched to change the subject in the pages of my file. It didn't surprise me that he'd acted like he'd seen it all before. Because, in all reality, he probably had.

It was the first night after FP's arrest. Knowing what I knew, I couldn't be home. I couldn't be at Ben's. Not until I knew for sure he was asleep and I wouldn't have to see his face. So instead I sat on the couch at Sweet Pea's trailer. It was a better place to question my existence than my bedroom. Sweet Pea knew I was there, but he was not. He was still dealing with whatever Serpent business needed to be dealt with after FP's sudden arrest.

The TV in the corner was on, but i'd forgotten it long ago. I stared at a random spot on the wall, lost in thought, hugging my knees to my chest. The discovery of my paternity could not have been more untimely. All it did was remind me why lying was never the better option. But, if FP had told me the truth, would I have believed him without seeing the results for myself? Probably not. My heart couldn't help but want to see him.

But the thought of seeing him sitting in a jail cell, seeing him behind bars, made my stomach turn. Even with a confession, I still knew deep down he couldn't have killed Jason Blossom—not after knowing all that Jason had done for me on the North Side. But cleaning up his murder? Hiding the killer's identity? I could believe that. It wasn't the best case scenario, but it was something other than being a murderer to put my faith in.

I'd curled up with my back against the arm rest nearest the door, turning in toward the back cushion as I sighed. It'd been a long day. The only times I'd seen Jughead were in and out of interrogation rooms and sporadic glances in the lobby waiting area. It made me anxious—to think that Jughead might've been pulling away again. But I took a deep breath. The last time I thought I was losing Jughead, I almost succeeded in killing myself.

That would not happen again. I'd made that clear to myself already. Now came the fight to stick to it. I didn't know when I'd successfully fallen asleep. But I did. It felt like mere seconds had gone by when I felt my body being moved, peeled from the couch and lifted. My eyelids remained closed, too heavy to open—but my consciousness was all too alert. It was put at ease when I recognized the muffled swear following a hard lurch.

I cracked an eyelid, fingers gripping onto Sweet Pea's t-shirt. "There's a table there."

"Thanks, babe, I almost didn't see it," he huffed a chuckle.

The smirk on his lips was evident in his voice. He maneuvered through the somewhat narrow doorway to the back bedroom, with the help of me instinctually bending my feet to miss the wall. He'd carried me to the bed, lowered me onto the mattress. And in my tiredness I let him remove my shoes from my feet and my jacket from my shoulders. I slipped beneath the thick blanket and burrowed into the pillows, an overwhelming comfort filling my chest with the intoxication of his scent.

A bit of my lucid mind came back with a sudden jolt of anxiety, and I lifted my head. Sweet Pea stood feet from the bed, facing away from me, as he removed his Serpent jacket—sliding off his boots simultaneously. He seemed like such a giant from this angle. Extremely tall with broad shoulders, he was like a skyscraper in human skin. I'd propped myself up on my elbow a bit. "How are the Serpents doing?" I asked, my voice quieted. "You know, dealing with FP's arrest and all."

"It's a little chaotic. But Tall Boy's trying to keep everyone from losing their minds."

Sweet Pea spoke quietly, too. As though there were someone else sleeping we both could not wake. I slid back down onto the pillow, letting my eyes fall closed. They were so heavy. I hadn't realized how tired I was until I'd gotten comfortable on the couch. It was quiet for a moment. My eyes had remained closed until I felt a dip in the mattress. Then I opened them to find Sweet Pea getting comfortable on the other side of the bed.

It looked like there'd been a line drawn. And he was careful not to cross it, flopping onto his back near the far side with a hand tucked under his head. He'd closed his eyes, but mine were open. He was bare chested in a pair of gray sweat pants, looking completely relaxed as the stress visibly faded away from his features. I readjusted my position before I spoke. "You can stretch out if you want," I offered, in a hushed whisper.

His eyes peeled open, then rolled toward me. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"I'm uncomfortable when I can't reach you."

He blew air through his lips in a tired, almost-snort of an exhale, then rolled onto his stomach in a small slide across the foot of space between us. One roll was all it took to bring him close enough. I scooted forward in a wiggle and his arms encircled me as my hands rested against the warm skin of his chest. "Better?" he asked, his cheek against my left temple.

"Much," I exhaled.

Easing our way into it was a sweet and very appreciated gesture. But all I wanted, all I needed, was for him to hold me. After the stressful jolt my life had taken, I needed an escape. I needed a comfort. And Sweet Pea's strong, tanned arms were exactly the escape I was looking for. Safely tucked against his chest, I'd let myself drift off into a deep sleep. When I woke, light was pouring in through the curtain in the window.

A firm grip was still around my middle. The blanket was still tucked up around me. But as my eyes opened fully, and I regained some awareness, I'd realized what had changed. Sweet Pea was behind me and my back was against his chest. His breath was on the side of my neck with the tip of his nose just behind my ear. It felt like I was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and softness and, for a long moment, I didn't move. I couldn't make myself.

I'd tried to close my eyes again, but I was a bit too awake to actually sleep. So I just laid there in blissful defiance. My mind wandered back to FP, to Jason and his real killer, and it hit me—if FP was involved in the murder somehow, who would know better than a Serpent? Obviously FP Jones didn't answer to anyone. But, even if he'd actually killed Jason himself, he would've needed help at some point. Everyone does. So now the question was, who helped him?

Mustang and Tall Boy came to my mind first. They were closest with FP, probably the first he would go to. They were the ones that could stomach it. And the ones with the right muscle needed to finish the job if push came to shove. I wasn't close with Mustang. He was a belligerent wild card that was too drunk to walk a straight line half the time. I'd only known Tall Boy a short while in a personal respect. He was my mother's oldest brother.

So, technically, he was my uncle. But we never had that kind of family relationship. He was just the person I'd buttered up when I needed a favor, using my mom as leverage to get what I wanted. And it worked. Every time. If Tall Boy was so susceptible to me and my pathetic attempt at charm, what else was he susceptible to? A proposition for murdering a teenage boy? For helping cover it up?

I let out a huff of a sigh in annoyance at my own thoughts, groaning a little. These questions needed answering. Preferably before I lost my mind. I'd pushed up onto my elbow then, tried to peel off the thick arm around my abdomen. But his grip only tightened, pulling me into him a bit, and I sighed. "Sweets, I need to get up-" my eyes flicked to the clock beside the bed. "-it's noon. Not only have I missed most of school, but Ben's probably sending out a search party as we speak."

"Sleep," was his only response, voice muffled from his face against the back of my t-shirt.

"Dude, it's noon! We've slept for almost ten hours!"

He lifted his head, eyes squinting hard against the light. "'Dude'?"

He looked amused—one eyebrow raised with the corners of his mouth softly turned upward. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "I say 'dude' all the time," I said, to which he hummed in skepticism. Then I pulled myself to sit up. "I need to find out who framed FP. I know in my bones that he didn't kill Jason—even with his so-called confession. I'm not giving up on him, Pea."

He looked at me a moment, then his eyes shifted down as he sighed. Then, with a hand gently rubbing up and down my lower back, he moved his eyes to my face with a nod. "I'm not either. We'll find out together," he decided, a tone of certainty in his groggy voice.

A small smile pulled at my lips, "I didn't peg you as the murder investigation type. I'm impressed."

"I told you I'm not just here for my rugged good looks and rock hard abs," he groaned softly, pushing himself off the other side of the bed. As he stood, he turned toward me with a humorously serious expression, "I have certain...skills."

"Oh, you do? Like what—making all the food in the fridge disappear? Leaving your underwear on the floor? Wait, I got it! Tooth paste all over the sink."

He grumbled something as he pulled a shirt from the floor onto hid body, walking toward the small bathroom in the corner, "I stay at your house one time—because you ask me to—and this is what I get." It was under a humorous sigh, disappearing into the bathroom, that left me chuckling as I climbed out of bed.

Pushing through the doors to the Whyte Wyrm, one thought kept creeping into my mind—this is a bad idea. But I didn't really have any options. The Serpents were a family, yes. Yet they were the type of family most people didn't understand. The type that would kill, or cover up kills, for each other. With each other. No questions asked. But a serial killer wouldn't be able to hide within them. Because he wouldn't have the dedication to stay through the brutal initiation.

I hadn't been inside the Wyrm in a while. I'd worn my Serpent jacket all the way there. It was a possibility someone from the North Side could spot me, say something. But it felt like I didn't care anymore. And maybe I didn't? Maybe I liked the recognition. Or, as Sheriff Keller put it, the affiliation. I wore a dark red hoodie beneath the jacket, with dark jeans and leather boots. Tightening my somewhat-high pony tail, I started for the bar.

Tall Boy was there, talking to the bar tender. He was my first target. Sweet Pea followed behind me, a stride behind and to the right, keeping a comfortable distance while still remaining by my side. It was a comfort—knowing I had backup. It was the best kind of backup. The protective, territorial boyfriend kind. The kind that never fails in any situation. It was a confidence boost. I strode up to Tall Boy, stopping a foot from him.

He'd stopped speaking a second after Sweet Pea and I arrived, and he turned to look at us. "Can I help you?" he sounded a bit disgruntled, but just looked tired. I could understand why—seeing as, as second in command, he now had to step up and lead. But he also had to calm and reassure the masses and keep the gang going. Literally. "Did you know FP was involved in Jason's murder?" I asked him, bluntly but calmly, and non-accusatory.

"Of course I did. Did I help him do it? No," he remained calm, casual—like he'd expected me to ask eventually.

"Do you know who did?" I asked, loosely crossing my arms.

"Look, kid. I don't owe you any answers to anything, alright?" he sighed, looking more worn thin than before. "I answered your first question out of respect for your dad. Now get out of here before I get someone to haul you out. You know how FP feels about you being here."

My eyes narrowed, but it was the only outward reaction I could afford in this situation. "Really, Tall Boy? Wow, you are completely clueless. FP is my father. But you already knew that. I think it's a little coincidental, don't you, that FP goes away and suddenly...mister underappreciated is in charge?"

"I'd watched your mouth-" Tall Boy stepped forward.

A thick wall of leather sidestepped around my right shoulder, planting his feet in between me and Tall Boy, cutting the large biker off from saying whatever insult he was about to hurtle. I was prepared for whatever he would say. He wasn't intimidating—not to me. But Sweet Pea used his towering height as an intimidation tactic of his own, not quite covering my view of the bearded Serpent in front of us. "Take your own advice, Tall Boy," he warned.

Tall Boy halted, but gave Sweet Pea a warning look of his own. To cut the tension, I spoke up, continuing my original thought. "If it wasn't you, then you should have no problem proving it, right?" I pointed out, neutrally, tipping my head onto my left shoulder to better make myself visible around Sweet Pea.

"Talk to Joaquin," Tall Boy grumbled, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. "Your problem's with him."

I smiled sweetly, patronizingly. "Was that so hard?"

My expression dropped in a second, changing to a glare accompanied by a slight frown aimed right for him. The middle aged biker only glared back at me. It wasn't that hard to find Joaquin. A quick sweep of the Wyrm revealed he sat on a stool near the pool tables. I gave a singular pat to Sweet Pea's bicep before walking Joaquin's way. He was completely unaware of the storm heading right for him. Joaquin and I were friends.

He was older than me by a year or two, but we always had a certain banter that came with close camaraderie. I could feel Sweet Pea following as I stepped up to Joaquin's table, plastering on a carefree smile as I puled myself up onto a stool. "Hey, D," Joaquin said, a bit surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school or something?"

Sweet Pea slid onto the stool to the left of mine, saying, "We're on a mission, Joaquin. How you come out of this depends on how fast you're willing to talk."

"What?" Joaquin tensed, eyes a bit wide.

"What he means is—we have some questions," I explained, calmly. "Did you know FP was involved in Jason's murder?"

Joaquin was quiet. His eyes shifted away from the table, darting across the room in one wide sweep. Sweet Pea was leaned forward onto the table top on his folded arms, and he turned his head to look at me with a raised brow, to which I replied with a shrug. "Not here," Joaquin said, a bit hushed. He tipped his head and slid off his stool, the gesture imploring us to follow. I didn't hesitate to. I knew Joaquin. Whatever he had to say, in private or in public, would be useful.

So Sweet Pea and I followed him outside to the parking lot, then around the right side of the building, to an empty space of pavement. Joaquin's demeanor was jittery, anxious. A blind man could tell he was a bit panicked. But I didn't blame him. If he was involved, it would be scary—to be so close to being exposed. Finally, Joaquin turned around to face us, and we stopped walking almost simultaneously. "Look...I know you and Jason were friends," Joaquin started, looking at me with a certain expression of guilt.

"Cut the pleasantries—what do you know?" Sweet Pea's eyes were narrowed.

Joaquin sighed, shoulders slumping. "FP killed Jason. I was there. I mean- I didn't see it happen. But- but I assumed. He called me on the eleventh, said he needed help with a clean up job at the Wyrm. It was in the basement. Jason was on the floor, already shot, when I got there. I helped him get the body into the freezer and then mop up the mess."

Some time during Joaquin's bit of a monologue, Sweet Pea had slid his hand in mine. Now he was giving it a reassuring squeeze. But it didn't help much. It didn't ease the burning in my throat. I took a deep breath, calming myself a bit before speaking. "Have you guys talked about it since?" I questioned.

"Yeah, a little. Look- there's something you should know. With all of this going south, I can't get close to the case. But there's a flash drive," Joaquin said, speaking directly to me. "FP said it was our contingency plan. It's in a duffel bag below the old maple syrup sign-"

"Where FP torched the car," I finished, ruefully.

Joaquin nodded, only confirming my worst fear. I had to ask myself a new question in that moment. I'd said I wasn't giving up on FP. But would I still fight for him, even if he actually was the killer?