Welcome to the first 'real' chapter! Thank you so, so much for your enthusiasm and your willingness to join one more adventure. :)
I'm keeping it (very) brief today since we're just getting started (and writing much more would necessitate pushing back posting this chapter by a day or so, 'cuz life)... but thank you so, so much for your notes as we closed out the previous story, and for the amazing encouragement as I worked on this chapter - including the thoughtful reminder as New Year's approached. :-D
I hope you enjoy!
-Button
00000
Jughead kicked the dirt.
"Pretty nice. I wouldn't want to handle it at highway speeds, though," Brand commented, skirting around his godson to approach the door of the tour bus. "Get your dogs settled in. Let me know if you need a hand with your suitcase."
FP cleared his throat.
"Because if you do, I'll get your father to help," Brand finished with a cheeky grin at FP.
Jughead shrugged, hoping he didn't seem too apathetic, then turned back toward the car to retrieve Never and Trigger.
He had leashed them both and was considering whether to take them for a brief, painfully slow walk when he felt someone come up far too close behind him.
"Brand, please don't-,"
"It's me." FP spoke, his voice deep and quiet. "Your godfather's exploring the bus. It does look pretty nice."
The band Archie was touring with, Breaking Fast, had loaned them their old tour bus for the weeks between everything that had occurred – both the Andrews and Jones families being barred from their 'crime scene' homes – and the tour beginning.
Archie, Fred, and Mary had stayed in the tour bus for just a couple of days before they'd been able to go home. That had conveniently not overlapped with the wolf pack's need for it; they'd been discharged that afternoon. The wolf pack had gone shopping, even though Fred texted them not to, insisting that Mary and Archie would drop by to provide whatever they needed. FP had called Fred back and held a hushed conversation that had put a stop to the texts.
Jughead figured it had something to do with the 'breather' that seemed to have become a catch-all term for getting some space and privacy during their break before the tour. Brand had made arrangements for him to complete coursework remotely, and they were prepared to hole up for the next few weeks. Not that Jughead had any intention of falling out of contact with Betty or with any of his friends. There had been far too much of that lately.
The tour bus had been parked in a nearly-abandoned-for-the-season state park, so they – thankfully – had access to 'real' showers. SAC Wilson had insisted on some security staying in an RV in the park, supposedly for Brand because of whatever had almost happened in the hospital, since some insane hikers who hit the trails for months at a time apparently still showed up from time to time.
The fact that the park was basically impossible to secure had been a point of conflict, but Brand had been adamant that the tradeoffs would be worth it so they could 'get out in nature while healing.'
Which had been a really weird thing to hear, especially coming from Brand.
The tour itself would start just a day before Christmas Break did, and crammed fourteen shows into twelve days. That represented a huge expansion that had left Archie thrilled and literally everyone else uneasy.
Jughead was already exhausted. But he also could not wait to start writing articles.
But this bus situation-
"It's not Sunnyside." FP dropped a heavy hand on Jughead's right shoulder.
And there it was.
Jughead forced a smile onto his face and then turned to face his father. "I know that."
"I know that you know that." FP gave him a concerned look but then seemed to read something in Jughead – he straightened up and shot him a pointedly fake smile. "And I can also see how unbelievably excited you are about it."
It was still a little weird having his dad pay enough attention to him to notice that kind of thing, Jughead reflected. Growing up, he would have been ignored as long as he wasn't actively causing trouble. Pretending to be happy? So much the better, FP would have said, dismissing any further need for discussion.
"What would help?" FP asked more seriously, dropping the fake smile. "Do we need to find a hotel? We can do that. Wilson's folks would love an excuse to stop securing an entire forest on our behalf."
Jughead shook his head. That would be a hassle and an unnecessary expense, not to mention it would invite questions about why they did not appreciate the generous offer of the tour bus.
"Brand spent forever convincing them that this would work. If I undo that, he'll be upset." Jughead shrugged. Brand had also said a bunch of stuff about hiking that had sounded completely unrealistic in their current conditions.
"Well, why don't you go take first pick of the rooms," FP motioned for Jughead to hand him the two leashes. "I'll be quicker at walking the dogs anyway. There are three sleeping berths, so we don't have to double up. But if you want to, pick a roommate. Brandon and I are both up for taking a top bunk, either one of us."
Huh. Jughead looked up at FP, this time with a smirk, but a much more genuine one. "Well. What if I want all three of us to bunk in together?"
"I'm not sure that's the easiest option, but I bet there's a seating area where we can drag some mattresses and make do." FP pointed at the bus. "Go. Figure out what you want."
Wow. His dad was really serious about this.
"Like I said," FP waited for Jughead to meet his gaze before he continued, "this is not Sunnyside."
And, just like that, it wasn't.
00000
That night, FP wedged himself into the berth nearest the front of the bus. It was 'cozy.' That wasn't a compliment, but to say he'd slept in worse conditions would be a massive understatement.
This sleeping area was a snug nest of memory foam and high thread counts.
Jughead had asked Brandon to bunk with him, offering his godfather the bottom bunk in the largest sleeping berth. Apparently it was an arrangement that made them both reminisce happily, a dynamic that FP did not want to ask about. Ten to one it would only end with him feeling disturbed, Brandon defensive, and Jughead conflicted.
There had been enough of that already, what with their back-to-back meetings with the SAC the previous day. She'd known they were about to be discharged from the hospital and managed to make elaborate arrangements to get each of them alone for a long-overdue talk about "options going forward."
FP's chat had been depressing: the Bureau wanted more of the same. After everything Jughead had endured while FP had answered the call of duty (or whatever the FBI wanted to term it), that sounded like the least palatable option.
Wilson insisted that FP's was still a temporary position, and the pay would remain at the ludicrous rate that he'd negotiated, but… The Southside was the Southside. FP was not convinced that it would ever change, and they were well past any of the projected timelines for his involvement. The field office's updated timelines were a lot less firm on estimated end dates; someone had obviously learned a valuable lesson about how complex the Southside ecosystem was.
Davies had returned from his meeting with a far too chipper outlook on his own future: Wilson had suggested that he leave the FBI before he was asked to leave, which sounded about right… but then Aaditi had suggested that he could transition seamlessly into private consulting.
Brandon had yet to adequately explain what consulting was, exactly, beyond doling out orders and advice to largely the same people whom he already worked with – but getting paid multiples of his current salary and regaining his autonomy by getting outside of the regular chain of command.
It sounded perfect for him. A little too perfect.
All right, it reeked so badly of being a head-injury-induced fantasy that FP had made discreet inquiries. Wilson had only chuckled and nodded, though. "I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but yes. Brandon's got the idea, more or less. It's actually something I'm considering doing later in my career."
So Davies would land on his feet yet again. It sounded suspiciously like a promotion, in fact.
Jughead had been subdued after his meeting. The FBI was offering to pay him in full for the remainder of his internship hours, write a glowing recommendation, and top that off with a generous scholarship toward his eventual college education.
They did not want him to return to the RA.
Jughead had explained the entire situation to FP without once making eye contact.
It had been inevitable, FP reminded himself. And it was a softened blow in every way that mattered. But it clearly still bothered his boy, and that irritated FP.
It was also mildly irritating that FP found himself still awake at this hour of the night.
Jughead had downed his pain meds hours ago and then curled up in bed with a book, and Davies had decided to follow suit in order to see how a good night's sleep set them up for their first full day outside of the hospital.
Apparently Davies had a new training regimen in mind that involved a lot of… walking.
FP had already warned them both not to overdo it, but he secretly hoped that Jughead would make progress swiftly. Their grocery store run had involved purchasing a whole lot of protein.
As the hours had passed in the quiet bus, FP had listened to the only slightly muted noises of the campground they'd parked it in – their old trailer had not been in good shape, but apparently it beat a bus handily for soundproofing. They had access to electricity and wifi, so the arrangement was comfortable, and it was quiet in the cold early days of December. But somehow that meant that the very few other residents of the campground seemed to make more than their share of noise.
And, in spite of what FP had told Jughead, it really did feel a lot like Sunnyside when someone started drinking and caterwauling just after Midnight.
Now it was nearing two am, though, and there were only mild sounds that FP could sleep through; he had every intention of doing so.
Only then a much louder cry went up.
This time FP did not hesitate: he threw off a ludicrously plush sherpa blanket and strode angrily toward the door of the tour bus.
Only then did he realize that the cry was coming from behind him – in the sleeping berth that Jughead was sharing with Brandon.
The pain meds.
The powerful medications had to be screwing with one or the other injured members of the wolf pack, FP realized, hurrying toward the bunks before either could do any damage – to themselves or to each other.
FP threw open the flimsy door and locked eyes with Brandon, who was struggling unsteadily to get onto his feet and reach Jughead's bunk.
"Stay down," FP ordered. Brandon looked disoriented at best. "I don't need two of you in rough shape. He'll hurt you when he's like this."
Brandon sat back down, breathing heavily in a way that FP had never seen him do before.
"And lay off of whatever you took. You look like crap," FP continued, frowning, although this time he wasn't sure he could be heard: Jughead was yelling in his sleep.
FP stepped up on the edge of Brandon's bed and hauled himself into the small bunk with Jughead so he could at least attempt to restrain his thrashing son before he hurt himself. Jughead didn't have a lot of particular restrictions on his movement post-surgery, but any significant exertion was frowned upon.
This looked like it qualified.
"FP, he'll hurt you too," Brandon said, his hand reaching up to grasp at one cuff of FP's flannel pajama pants. "Get back down here, you lunatic."
Only FP had no trouble at all: Jughead was as weak as a kitten. FP was able to pin his arms without effort.
When Jughead blinked up at his father, it looked promising; he appeared to be awake.
"I'm not… supposed to train, Dad." Jughead twitched under him in what might have been a pitiable attempt to dislodge FP. It was honestly difficult to tell if Jughead was resisting, which made FP want to cringe – and punish the people who had done this to his son.
"You were having a nightmare," FP said more calmly than he felt. "Brandon's on drugs, so I had to be the one to come wake you up."
A noise of protest came from the bunk below.
Jughead smiled faintly. His pupils were unnaturally large, so it was quite likely that whatever he'd taken was still active in his system.
It might be a very long night.
But Jughead could get some much-needed sleep thanks to the meds. If that meant FP went without rest for the duration of the night, then so be it.
"You feel like you can try going back to sleep?" FP asked, scooting back so he could sit mostly upright at the far end of the bunk. Jughead pushed himself up so that he was on his elbows.
"Maybe in a few minutes. I'm thirsty." Jughead didn't quite meet FP's eyes.
"Okay. We can do something about that." FP studied Jughead as he slid his legs over the edge of the bunk to go get a bottle of water from their water supply. Davies batted at his leg and at first it seemed like a teasing gesture – but then he grabbed FP's ankle and squeezed meaningfully while pushing his foot back up toward the top bunk.
Apparently he thought FP should do or say something more before climbing down.
"What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?" FP asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure that dwelling on the nightmare was the best idea.
A pat on his ankle confirmed that that was what Davies had wanted, though. Huh; at least one of them was happy.
"The, uh, hotel." Jughead looked down at his hands, and the wrists that were covered and would hopefully emerge – this time – in better shape than they had previously. "I think that um, you know, being a little out of it from the meds… it reminded me of the hotel. It was a little like that."
Jughead had been force-fed narcotics and high-proof alcohol and then left face-down in a bathtub. Anything consciousness-altering was likely to remind him of that, FP reflected, though they really needed to reconsider whatever he'd been prescribed if the similarities were too on the money.
"Water?" Jughead asked again, hopefully.
He'd also been severely dehydrated to the point that it had probably crossed over into torture.
FP nodded, not trusting his voice. He patted Jughead on the knee and then jumped down from the top bunk before Brandon could attempt to signal anything else.
"Bring him a few water bottles," Davies said quietly. "He should have a stash handy."
Obviously.
FP just nodded once again, though, and decided to grab an extra water bottle for Davies. He probably needed to hydrate as well.
Maybe tomorrow they'd move a mattress into the seating area. If FP and Davies each took a couch, Jughead could sleep on a mattress in the middle.
Then, hopefully, there'd be no more of this.
FP grabbed the water bottles from the kitchen area and then scooped up a few cushions from the couch. He could probably assemble a comfortable enough bed for himself on the floor, so he'd be nearer the two stoned members of the wolf pack.
And then it hit him: for the first time, he was the one who was sober, taking care of other people.
Both of them were recovering from massive injuries necessitating heavy duty painkillers, so it was not really a fair comparison… but still.
FP took a moment to collect himself before he opened the flimsy door to their sleeping berth once again. He considered the situation carefully - and reconsidered some of what he'd said.
When he opened the door and began passing out water, he eyed Brandon carefully. "You don't look so good. How do you feel?"
Davies winced dramatically and motioned to his head. "I've been better."
"Here. Let me see your pain meds. You should get some sleep, and if you're clear for another dose you should take it," FP said decisively, holding out his hand for the pill bottle.
"That's not what you said two minutes ago," Brandon pointed out.
"I'm setting up to sleep right here." FP pointed to the cushions he'd brought. "If anything happens, I'll know."
Brandon studied him.
And then Jughead leaned over the top bunk. "Thanks, Dad. I was getting worried about him."
"I'm moving over here to keep an eye on you too," FP said, pointing up at Jughead. "Where are your meds?"
"I don't want to take any more." Jughead gave his father a pointed look. "The doctor said I could just stick to ibuprofen if I don't like the side effects."
"The ibuprofen is in the bathroom," Brandon directed, motioning with one arm.
"On it." FP moved swiftly to retrieve the bottle. He shook out two pills and handed them up. "Davies?"
"Give me some of those too. My restricted stash is in that bag," Davies pointed to his duffel, which had been crammed underneath the bunk. "It mixes fine with ibuprofen, but I'm not convinced it mixes well with me."
FP found the bottle, and he saw the problem in an instant. "I'll go make you some toast. This isn't supposed to be taken on an empty stomach."
Davies groaned theatrically and Jughead laughed.
"You need to get on my diet. That way your stomach will never be empty," Jughead said, his smirk coming through loud and clear in his voice.
Not a bad reminder, FP thought. When he returned, it was with a tall stack of thickly buttered toast; he passed the majority up to Jughead on a large plate and gave two slices to Davies. "Don't get crumbs everywhere. I don't need to be explaining why we gave this bus back with a vermin problem."
"Aye aye," Jughead managed around a generous mouthful.
Brand smirked at FP and then took a big bite of toast himself. "Thanks, Florence. Didn't know ya had it in you."
Well, that made two of them.
FP simply nodded in acknowledgment and then returned to setting up a makeshift bed in the narrow hall.
"The pills can go in my bag." Brandon motioned to the pill bottle again, keeping his tone casual. "Put the kid's meds in there too. I've got a lock for that pouch and I can keep the key with me."
Another reminder. FP didn't comment, though; he simply locked up the pills and handed Brandon the key.
"Dad wouldn't." Jughead leaned over the edge of the bunk again. "Don't be a jerk, Brand."
"I'm making it easier on him, believe me." Brandon motioned at Jughead for emphasis. "You and I trust him more than he trusts himself. This way he doesn't have to waste any energy thinking about it."
Jughead glared down at his godfather, clearly unconvinced.
FP studied Brandon anew, though. It had not yet occurred to him to worry about the pills and their easy access – or even just the thought that either Jughead or Davies might wonder about it later on.
But it would have occurred to him eventually, and then he would not have rested as easily.
"Your godfather's right. I appreciate it." FP raised his eyebrows at Jughead. "Another life lesson? Knowing your own limits can be tough. It means you've gone past them, probably more than once. But this kind of thing helps."
Now Davies looked surprised. Maybe even a little impressed.
"Go to sleep, both of you." FP was done with this conversation. "I'll be right outside if you need anything."
Jughead handed down an empty plate, and Brandon made short work of his own toast so that he could knock back a pill and hand over his plate as well.
Just a few minutes later, both were snoring.
FP rinsed the plates and then got comfortable on the large cushions he'd arranged.
And finally, blessedly, he slept.
00000
By the time FP woke up, Jughead was wolfing down his third energy bar while Brand made eggs on what looked like a glorified hot plate.
"Coffee's hot and ready," Brand said when he saw FP was awake. "The kid made it; I can't vouch for anything."
Jughead rolled his eyes. Brand was off of caffeine for the foreseeable future, and he'd been complaining as though that was his primary injury.
FP had privately told Jughead that there was no way Brand was still experiencing any vestiges of caffeine withdrawal, and suggested that Brand was just trying to be funny. Or that he had brain damage.
Which was FP's way of trying to be funny.
Jughead was not at all sure what the plan was for the day, or for any other day that they'd spend in the heavily forested park, for that matter. He hoped it wouldn't be one long complaining fest, though.
"We need to talk about what you're expected to do while we're here," FP announced as he poured himself a mug of coffee – and then gave Brand what Jughead could only describe as a gloating smirk.
So maybe fighting would be the order of the day instead of complaining.
Jughead opened a fourth energy bar; focusing on that would at least be a distraction.
"I got a map of the place. There's a lake," Brand announced, as if this was the cherry on top of something fantastic. Caffeine or no caffeine, he was way too excited.
"Huh. A lake. In a campground. In December," Jughead replied flatly.
"State park," Brand corrected, "in a beautiful part of the country. There are natural waterfalls in the region."
Jughead did not dignify that with a response.
"The dogs need some exercise, a routine, and I thought we could discuss the specifics of their training," FP interjected. "I'll take the lead on it until you feel up to taking over, but I want you to start thinking again about agility trials for Trigger."
Jughead nodded; he was not in any way unclear on the parameters of the 'perfect obedience' edict he'd signed off on.
"I got us winter gear so we can be outside comfortably," FP continued.
"I was there," Jughead said, this time a little too sweetly. "It all looked amazing if we want to trek to the north pole. Especially if there are natural waterfalls along the way."
"Ice climbing is-,"
Jughead cut Brand off without hesitation: "Way beyond anything we can handle right now."
"Get your brand-new lined pants on and let's see what we can handle," Brand retorted with a grin.
"That sounds like a good start for today," FP added before Jughead could respond. "You and Brandon can see what you're up to doing while I take stock of what we need and take the dogs out for a run."
Man. They were ganging up already. This was going to be a long couple of weeks if they kept that up.
Ten minutes later, Jughead was pulling an extremely heavy coat closer around himself as he and Brand trudged in the general direction of the mythical lake.
It only added insult to injury when FP jogged past them, both dogs heeling but obviously eager to run at full tilt.
"Don't think about that," Brand said, amusement in his voice.
"What?" Jughead feigned innocent confusion.
"You'll get there. And this right here is how." Brand motioned to their slow pace.
"If you say one step at a time-,"
"Well now I don't have to, do I?" Brand was smirking, but then he looked up abruptly. "Huh. Did you see that?"
"What?" Jughead was half afraid it was some sort of joke at his expense, but Brand sounded sincerely intrigued.
"Some kind of bird. It was big." Brand looked over at Jughead thoughtfully. "We might need to get you a better zoom lens so we can figure out what that was. There is a major holiday coming up, after all, and an early gift never did anyone too much harm."
Jughead gave Brand an unimpressed look, but then hesitated. A long reach with his camera would mean he could take photos without moving around as much.
"See? You're getting the idea," Brand said with a pleased smile. "Hauling it will build muscle, and just having it will encourage you to move around a little more."
That was another way of looking at it.
"Wow. From the way you describe it, it almost sounds like my health insurance should cover the expense," Jughead deadpanned.
"Eh, that's probably true. Health insurance companies would be a lot further ahead if they covered lots of things they never even consider paying for," Brand replied. He sounded a lot more serious than Jughead had expected; this was likely to turn into a rant if he didn't change the subject quickly.
"So, are there any waterfalls in this park?" Jughead figured that was likely to hit home.
"There happen to be several." Brand gave Jughead a look that said he knew what his godson was doing, but that he would allow it. How very big of him. "Some are small, and they might not all run in the winter. But we'll see for ourselves."
Oh joy.
Although it wasn't all bad. Jughead noticed that his gear was starting to warm from his body heat; he already felt more comfortable. The chill was barely bothering him as they continued to move, even at their slow pace.
"In fact," Brand said with relish, "photographing waterfalls requires some technique. You should read up. You don't need a fancy new lens for that."
That was an interesting idea as well.
And then Trigger came bounding toward him; his dad must have decided to let the dogs off of the leashes. Jughead grinned and crouched to hug him, then looked up to see Never loping toward him. She looked absolutely gorgeous in the woods, with the patchy snow in the shade accentuating her unusual markings and her elongated adolescent form.
There might be a number of interesting things to shoot, Jughead thought. He smiled.
"Time off is a good thing," Brand said, responding to his smile. "You just need the right attitude is all."
"Yeah." Jughead remained crouching for a few more moments. "Maybe."
Jughead took a deep breath of the pine-and-snow smell of the forest and looked up at Brand. It was probably as good a time as any to ask. "Did you get hurt because of me? Because I had already injured you?"
Brand shook his head, but he looked confused. He'd probably misunderstood Jughead's question.
"Brand, I mean would you be less hurt – maybe a lot less hurt – if you hadn't already gotten a major shoulder and knee injury before the home invasion?" Jughead hoped that was precise enough. "I just… you've never gotten hurt before. Not like this. And now, the one time you go into a fight injured, you come out-,"
Brand was making a face of such extreme displeasure that it made Jughead stop talking.
His godfather didn't respond right away. Instead, they both seemed to be frozen in place with time standing still, even though the dogs were panting and dancing around them before taking off for another sprint through the forest.
Brand finally reached down to where Jughead was still crouching. "C'mere, kid."
Jughead accepted Brand's hand up, and then they stood face to face. They were almost eye to eye, even though Brand was still a couple of inches taller.
"You stepped in front of a loaded gun, killer," Brand said slowly and evenly.
Jughead wasn't sure why, but the forest around him seemed to be coming alive with sound and movement. He was finding it harder to focus on Brand as a bird flitted past – and then a pine cone or something bounced its way from a treetop all the way to the ground. Something was dripping, whether it was slowly melting snow from the few inches that had fallen two days prior or perhaps from an actual water source nearby. A noisy squirrel was–
"Breathe, kid. Focus on me." Brand reached over to grasp Jughead's chin. His eyes were filled with worry. "Take it easy. I didn't mean to give you a flashback."
"I wasn't – I mean, it was just – there's a squirrel over there, and–," Jughead broke off when Brand let go of his chin to reach down to his hands.
Brand gently drew Jughead's hands up so that they were clearly visible to both of them. Even though they were in thick gloves, it was obvious that his hands were shaking.
"This right here is what I hope you're gonna take as proof that you should believe me… believe your dad… and believe everyone else who loves you – and not trust yourself or your instincts, just for a little while." Brand released Jughead's arms. "We'll all tell you the same thing. None of this was your fault. You did everything right, and you did some things much better than anyone could have expected."
The bird flew into view again; it seemed to have chosen a perch in order to deliberately annoy the squirrel, which began protesting loudly. As if from nowhere, a second bird swooped onto a nearby branch and began making a racket of its own.
"Hey. Kid." Brand grabbed Jughead by the chin again. "You're not taking any more meds if you keep spacing out like this."
"It's a literal squirrel, probably the loudest one in the state, and it's in the middle of a whole thing right over there-," Jughead tried to explain himself, but Brand cut him off again.
"Forget about the squirrel for two seconds. We're having a serious conversation here."
That was… fair. Completely fair, in fact. Jughead tried to bring his full attention back to his godfather.
It was surprisingly difficult.
"Now, if you aren't ready to have this conversation, then-,"
"No! I want to." Jughead tried harder to concentrate. "I hurt you, and then-,"
"What I said was 'you stepped in front of a loaded gun.' And then you blanked out on me." Brand was studying Jughead closely.
That squirrel was now darting back and forth on the branch, making it sway wildly – no. Jughead brought his mind back to the conversation. He was going to focus. He nodded for Brand to continue.
"You are not making me feel good about this," Brand said uneasily.
"I'm fine. Just, uh, not the nature type." Jughead tried to shrug off what was increasingly seeming like a major problem with his brain shorting out – or being selectively distractible – or something. "The woods and all… it's new, I guess. Novel. And that makes it hard to tune out."
It wasn't new or novel. It was just distracting him like crazy because his brain was malfunctioning. But this would sell better, Jughead was pretty sure.
Brand blinked at him. "The woods? New? We're gonna need to fix that."
"Oh man, let's not." Jughead didn't quite roll his eyes, but this was getting perilously close to some of Archie's jokes about Brand: that he was a crazy survivalist, teaching Jughead to live off the land and his wits. Re-enacting Hatchet or whatever, just for fun.
"Well, I do have a point, if you want to hear it." Brand was eyeing Jughead closely.
The teen tried to school his expression. "Yeah. I do."
"Would you step in front of that gun a second time?" Brand asked slowly, levelly, his eyes never leaving Jughead's.
What an obvious trick question.
"Look," Jughead said cagily, eyes narrowed, "I know it wasn't a well thought out move. I know that everyone says-,"
"Off the record, I mean," Brand added swiftly. "Just between you and me. No therapists and no psychoanalyzing. I won't even hold you to anything you say right now."
Jughead still hesitated, studying him cautiously for a few seconds, but then he nodded firmly. "Yeah. I would step in front of the gun again. A hundred times over."
"My shoulder, my knee, and my head?" Brand said, pointing for emphasis. "Likewise. A hundred times over. Now, I'm only saying that to you, and only because you've grown up so much these past few weeks that I think you actually understand me. Don't you go repeating that to anyone who might want to have me committed or 'evaluated' or anything."
Jughead nodded. That squirrel was starting to get closer to one of the birds, but he tried to ignore it.
But then the squirrel leapt at the bird and the whole branch seemed to explode in a frenzy of noise and movement.
"That thing has a death wish," Brand said in disbelief, finally looking over at the disruptive wildlife.
Jughead smiled, glad that Brand was finally acknowledging that something was really not right about that squirrel.
"Now c'mere, kid." Brand opened his arms. "I'm not going to break, and you've been keeping your distance."
It was true. Jughead hadn't realized that Brand had noticed until this moment.
Jughead leaned in carefully, glad that they both had heavy coats so he wouldn't have to worry about jostling Brand too much.
Only Brand grabbed his right arm in a hold and twisted it hard.
Jughead reacted without thinking; he countered, slipped free, and danced a few steps away – safely out of reach.
"Okay, you just broke every doctor's order known to man," Jughead said, staring at Brand as if his godfather had lost his mind.
"Yeah." Brand was grinning. "But now you know that you're not going to break either."
In spite of himself, Jughead snorted a brief laugh of relief. "I might break you again if you don't watch yourself."
"That's the spirit."
They were both grinning when FP appeared on the trail, as if from nowhere. He must have been following the dogs, and it was clear from his expression that he'd witnessed their brief altercation. "Brandon? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you are not in any shape to fight."
Jughead scoffed. "Well that works out, because I'm not in any shape to hurt him, Dad."
Brand had taken one large step away from Jughead, though.
"Tell him, Brand," Jughead prompted.
"He doesn't mean I can't take you in a fight," Brand said, stage whispering.
Oh.
"Uh, Dad, I-,"
"I can make sure that you two are never alone together." FP said, his tone threatening. "Or, you know, I could just make sure that Brandon never walks again. I can't say that's not tempting right about now."
"I'd like to see you try. Fighting isn't just about strength and being at the top of your game, you know," Brand retorted. His stance lowered ever so slightly.
Jughead winced at Brand's words and the threat in his voice.
"It's not like you have just one injury that you can effectively guard. I think I could get a hit in somewhere sensitive and then it would be over real fast." FP's reply was dry. "Maybe I'd even have time to take a crack at your thyroid."
"For the last time," Jughead objected strenuously, holding his hands up as if to stop both men, "Brand didn't hurt my thyroid. That was-,"
"Killer." Brand interrupted Jughead firmly, his voice suddenly calm and serious. "Let's get one thing straight: your father and I are in complete agreement on that subject. I am the most likely source of the original injury, whether directly or indirectly, and I am almost certainly the reason you were reinjured. Repeatedly. You will never convince me that I wasn't."
Jughead frowned.
FP was watching him closely, almost as if he expected Jughead to collapse or have a panic attack or something.
"Really, Brand? You're gonna try to convince me that you're riddled with guilt and you still thought that breaking doctor's orders was a good idea–,"
"To help you heal." Brand shrugged and turned so that he was speaking to FP when he continued. "The kid needs to loosen up. Maybe even have some fun. One man's opinion."
FP's eyes were narrowed. He looked from Brand to Jughead.
"Fun," FP finally repeated, testily.
"Perhaps you've heard of it," Brand said, overly brightly and completely unhelpfully.
And then FP did something unexpected: he laughed.
Until that moment, Jughead hadn't really been nervous. Now he wondered if he should be worried or, perhaps, terrified. A quick glance at Brand confirmed that his godfather was unnerved as well.
"Fine." FP was still grinning, but it was clear that it was in response to his private joke. "Fun sounds… good. We'll try for that. Starting right now. Come with me."
When FP turned on his heel and led them further down the trail that they'd been following (and that FP had doubled back on), Brand gave Jughead a grimace.
"Sorry. I might have just dug us two fresh graves," Brand said in sotto voce.
"You really need to remember that right now we can't take him," Jughead muttered back, keeping his voice low as well. "Not as messed up as we are."
"Yes. You really should," FP interjected. The grin was audible in his voice.
Brand and Jughead exchanged dismayed looks.
"Now move it. The day is young." FP was practically gleeful.
This was going to be something, Jughead was certain.
00000
Fred slid open his laptop and leaned back with a contented smile.
"Mind if I join you?" Mary leaned into his office.
"Not at all," Fred replied as he clicked on the camera. "We're planning to play some chess tonight, so it might be a little boring."
"Oh, there is no chance of it being boring," Mary said with a laugh. She slid onto the couch beside Fred. "Have you had a chance to talk to Archie? Or to Veronica? They might know why some of the recent communications from the headlining band have been… odd."
"Not yet." Fred sighed. "Whenever I bring it up things get testy. Archie's nervous, that's really what's going on here. That's quite likely what's happening with Veronica too, although she keeps telling me she's too busy to talk. But once I recover a little more, Archie and I can spend some time getting out and about together, which always helps–,"
"Fred," Mary interrupted gently but chidingly. "How you're walking won't make a difference to Archie. I really think that it would be better if you started having these conversations now."
Mary frowned and then she continued, more plaintively: "Please don't wait any longer. It will only get harder and you'll have less time to work through anything before the tour starts."
Fred had been about to connect the video call, but he paused and turned to face Mary more fully on the couch.
They looked into each other's eyes for a few intense seconds.
Finally Mary spoke, resignedly. "I know; I know. You're exhausted. And recovering in more than one way."
"I'm still wrapping my head around a lot." Fred smiled sadly. "And Archie is about to take on some of the biggest responsibilities of his life, and he's doing amazingly in most ways. I want to tread carefully. First do no harm and all of that."
Fred looked away, but then he looked back with an impish light in his eyes. "But you know what helps?"
"Hmmm… Yes. Maybe I do." Mary's smile became flirtatious.
"Well. That too." Fred grinned. "But what I meant is these talks."
Mary inclined her head to indicate that he could connect the call, but she frowned to herself ever so slightly. "I'm glad that it helps. But really, I think you ought to talk to everyone, Fred. It might help more than you realize."
"I'm taking some time, and I'm taking stock. I can only do that with the people who understand what I'm going through," Fred said, and he was surprised when his tone came out wearily. "Just… give me time. I'll have more to offer when I talk to Archie if I've got a handle on my own experiences and what those mean going forward."
Mary still looked unconvinced, but she smiled brightly as the call came to life on the screen.
"Jughead!" Fred's smile was broad as well.
In fact, Fred's smile was a whole lot broader than Mary had seen lately in other circumstances.
At least, not since she'd returned to the nightmarish story that had ended with two bullets in Fred and the very real possibility that Archie could have been involved – even killed – had anything played out differently along the way,
So maybe this video call arrangement was healthy. Maybe this was what healing looked like.
Maybe this wasn't Fred shutting out his family from his recovery from what had to have been an immensely traumatizing experience.
And maybe Archie's increasing unease over the intensity of Fred's connection with Jughead, an unease that he had only reluctantly shared with his mother when she'd pressed him, was completely unfounded.
As Jughead began an animated story about hiking with his father and godfather, though, it reminded Mary of Archie – and it seemed to her that Fred should be having these kinds of conversations with their son as well as with Archie's best friend.
"How are you sleeping?" Jughead seemed to turn the conversation on a dime, leaning in conspiratorially. "My dad moved us all to mattresses and cushions in the seating area, which sounded insane, but it worked. I got a full eight last night."
"You did?" Fred was surprised and delighted. "That's huge!"
And there it was: the part that nobody else could give Fred.
Mary bit her lip as she listened to the two compare sleep disturbances and nightmares and laugh over the very topics that Mary knew – she just knew – were behind Fred's thousand yard stare and his curt 'nothing' whenever she asked what he was thinking or recalling.
With Jughead they transformed from untouchably raw wounds into hilarious - albeit dark - punchlines.
That was worth a great deal. Mary felt herself relax, and gratitude began to well up and replace her worry.
Maybe Archie just needed to sit in on a few of these chats, particularly now that they had become a daily occurrence. That might help him understand and process the situation.
Archie had refused the last several times she'd brought it up, but had not explained why he was reluctant to join his father and best friend on a call. It did not entirely make sense, since Archie spoke to Jughead directly almost every day; they'd been calling each other and talking and laughing together most nights, usually until FP or Brand forced Jughead to hang up and go to bed.
Mary would ask Archie again.
"Hey, sorry to butt in." A new voice came through the video call. Brandon Davies slid into view on the tour bus sofa that Jughead was relaxing on.
"No you're not," Jughead contradicted him with a sly grin.
In moments the two were engaged in something between a wrestling match and a tickle fight.
"Uh… boys?" Mary tried to interrupt what looked like a completely terrible idea given their injuries.
"To your corners, both of you. Now." A much louder, commanding voice rang through the laptop speakers. FP stepped in front of the camera and then sat down in the tight space between Brandon and Jughead on the compact couch.
Jughead groaned dramatically as FP's solid frame pressed him into the arm of the couch. Brandon made a show of protecting his injured shoulder and knee.
"Cut it out. You have broken the rules more than once already today." FP squared his shoulders briefly, inspiring more groans of protest, and then he relaxed so that Jughead and Brand could fit more easily. "We need to talk, Fred. What is going on with that band?"
"Mary and I were just talking about that," Fred said, leaning forward. "It's weird, isn't it? I'm not sure what to make of it."
"It's rich. They asked me to bring more 'FBI buddies' along," Brand said with a smirk. "Hard pass. And what exactly do they think that would entail?"
"They are very eager about publicity, so they've been generous, but now they're asking for a lot of information – and access – to-,"
"I know." FP interrupted Fred as he leaned forward toward the camera as well. Both Brand and Jughead exchanged mischievous glances as they pretended to catch their breath in the space left behind. "Stop that, you two. This is serious."
"Well, sure, but it's not complicated. We're stonewalling anyone asking for anything involving Jones," Brand declared firmly. "I don't care who wants what. It's not happening."
"Are you really going to be able to have him writing anonymously?" Mary finally asked the question that had her most concerned about the arrangement with Jughead and the magazine's website. "If it was leaked that it was Jughead…"
"Way ahead of you," Brand said confidently.
"I'm concerned too," FP said dourly, shooting Brand a look. "I know the press coverage is important for the tour, but apparently a whole lot of things have become awfully important to the headlining band, and I'm starting to feel like they might be taking some advantage."
"They insisted on having Brand involved, asked for more FBI if possible, are trying to find out the embedded journalist's identity as well as get access to him personally," Fred ticked off each one on his fingers, "they've doubled down on an awfully grueling appearance schedule that has greatly expanded over the past week or so, and now they've got Archie's band connecting with their people through some app."
"Oh, that's for communication," Jughead interjected. "It's actually really cool. I'm getting to know a few people individually, but there's also places for group messaging so everyone gets updates all the time."
Both FP and Brand froze. Then they both turned slowly toward Jughead.
"Not with my real name or my picture," Jughead immediately began sputtering explanations. "I know better than to-,"
"Oh, hon, no-," Mary heard the unhelpful words coming out of her mouth and was powerless to stop them. "The security on those sorts of apps is-,"
"Nonexistent." Brand's tone rang with anger. "Give me your phone. Now."
"Brandon, do not take his phone," FP's tone held a warning. But then he turned to Jughead. "You can delete that app right now, though. We'll watch."
Jughead's eyebrows lowered. "You haven't even looked into its security-,"
"Can you, uh, deal with that later?" Fred asked. "I'd really like to talk about this whole issue with the tour first. And then I guess I'll have Archie delete the app too, since it's that dangerous."
"I'll look into the app and let you know," Brand offered.
"Seriously?" Jughead demanded hotly. "You can't do it for me, but-,"
"Your security concerns are completely different from-,"
"I think we need to ask some questions," Mary interrupted, trying to get the conversation back on track. "And maybe in a way that doesn't let anyone know we're the ones asking questions."
Everyone fell silent and stared at her.
Well, that was very nice. Mary continued: "It sounds like there's something that the headlining band is either worried about or interested in exploiting. I for one would like to know which, and also what exactly they think we can do for – or to – them. This has been a mutually beneficial arrangement so far, but it's starting to seem like we're bringing more to the table than we know."
Everyone seemed to be absorbing that idea. FP nodded first.
"If they suspect that Jug's involved, that's a moneymaker for them. The publicity alone."
Jughead grimaced.
"Or Archie's GoFundMe prowess has them seeing dollar signs," Brand joked, but then he became serious. "The popular press is starting to talk about that as a trailblazing move in a concert. It's completely possible this band wants a taste of the action."
"Those articles are nothing more than clickbait," Mary responded skeptically. The many articles had irked her when they began spawning seemingly all over, going viral in days, only each article was essentially a copied and pasted duplicate of the last. The result had been that it looked like a real and growing trend, in part because few online readers seemed to notice that it was the same example repackaged every time with new headlines and different stock photos.
"You think the band knows that? Or believes it can't be bottled, even if they do know that?" Brand shrugged. "They're young. They want their shot. They might want to try a few approaches and see what sticks."
Fred was nodding now. "At least you pulled down the site, but everyone seems to have a screenshot of the grand total. Have you done anything with the money?"
"Nope. It's earning massive interest and making me uncomfortable, and I probably owe a chunk of it for FP's car, but-,"
"It's not my car." FP's expression darkened. "Stop saying that it is."
"I'm giving it to you."
"Well it isn't paid for, so that's some gift you're offering-,"
"I'll pay for it. I'll write a check from my charity," Brand said.
"Please don't call it that." Mary's eyes were wide. "Have you called it that in front of anyone? Anyone at all?"
"No-o," Brand seemed to be thinking. Not good; that meant he wasn't sure if he'd said it in front of anyone else.
"It would be a PR nightmare if anyone heard you say that." Mary gave Brand her sternest this-is-vital-legal-advice look. "The money is yours, free and clear, from a legal standpoint – but you cannot make statements like that."
"I wasn't 'making a statement,'" Brand objected.
"It's always a statement with you," Jughead said mildly. "Automatically. Because you're famous."
Mary blinked. "Yes. Exactly, Jughead. You need to be extra careful, Brandon."
"Yes, ma'am." Brand seemed to straighten up and focus more seriously on the conversation, which took the sting out of his bizarre habit of calling her 'ma'am.'
"So how do we ask these questions?" Fred brought the conversation back to the pressing question: how to find out what was going on. "And how do we do it without anyone realizing?"
"Dad, couldn't you do it?" Jughead turned to FP. "You could even join the app. You're allowed now."
That didn't make any sense at all.
"Why would you be able to ask questions?" Mary asked. "And why would you be allowed on the app?"
Brand slapped himself on the forehead. "Did you get the job, old man?"
"Job?" Fred looked from one member of the wolf pack to another. "You applied for a job, FP? As if you don't already have enough-,"
Fred stopped dead and studiously ignored Jughead's gleeful expression.
Ah. The odds that the teen did not know about FP's arrangement with the FBI were apparently nil. Mary had to hide a smile; even she'd eventually been read in, and it wasn't like Jughead would be a security leak. It was frankly cute to see three grown men on the ropes against his deductive reasoning.
"I did, and it's only temporary. I've joined the road crew; they were shorthanded, and I'm not officially part of the security detail that Brandon's assembled." FP gave Brand a smirk.
The security detail was Brand himself. The tour had its own security already, and Davies was going only for Archie and the band - and only because Fred had asked him to go. That was part of why the requests from Breaking Fast were confusing.
They shouldn't care about the lone security person hired by their opening band to supervise the teens.
"I'm also part of the security detail, since I can't do road crew work," Jughead offered with a self-deprecating shrug. "Too much heavy lifting. Literally. I need cover, though, so that nobody suspects that I'm the embedded journalist."
If anyone thought that was believable cover, they really needed some better training at the FBI, Mary thought wryly.
"He's going as SAC Wilson's kid, sort of," Brand responded to Mary's facial expression with a nod acknowledging that the plan did not entirely make sense. "He's the relative of a politician who wants a winter break internship with a rock band. Wilson's letting him take her last name for the duration."
"Jones wasn't generic enough?" Fred joked.
"We wanted the story to check out if anyone asked." Brand shrugged. "I don't know a whole lot of politicians, and Wilson was willing."
Suddenly FP was looking anywhere but at Mary. Interesting.
Mary tried to picture Aaditi Wilson with FP and failed, but that didn't mean it was impossible.
"So can I tell Archie all of this now?" Jughead demanded. "We talk every day, and every day my dad and Brand insist that he can't know a ton of stuff - even though it's his band and his tour."
"That's for his protection," Brand said darkly.
Fred was nodding before Brand even finished speaking.
But Mary wasn't so sure about that course of action. "It is his band, and I can see ways in which Archie could be very helpful if he knew some of this-,"
"It's too dangerous." Fred interrupted firmly, and with a finality that meant Mary would need to tread carefully if she wanted him to even consider amending that decision.
"I agree," FP said, giving Mary a small smile of apology. "It's not safe to read anyone else in. Not even Archie."
"It's awkward." Jughead folded his arms and made a face of displeasure. "Really awkward."
"Really? It's awkward? Welcome to the world of classified work." Brand's grin was teasing.
FP's expression was a lot more serious when he nodded in agreement; so was Fred's.
And just like that, Mary found herself wondering what they talked about with each other – what topics and information she was not privy to.
Poor Archie, Mary thought. He'd be at the dead center of everything, yet cut out completely from an entire world of information and intrigue.
"Kind of makes you jealous of Archie, huh?" Fred said.
His words surprised Mary, and as he laughed – and both FP and Brand laughed along in seeming agreement – she had to privately disagree. Vehemently.
"You aren't the ones who are going to have to keep him from exploding," Jughead disagreed.
Mary locked eyes with Jughead through the camera. The teenager gave her a tight smile and inclined his head slightly.
"Nah, I don't really mean it. Don't worry. I'll keep him safe, Mrs. A." Jughead smiled reassuringly. "I'll even try for sane, too."
"I appreciate that."
Mary really, really did. As complicated as all of this sounded, Jughead had proven time and again that he was more than up to the task. Surely with him teaming up with Archie, everything would go smoothly.
Or at least as smoothly as could be expected.
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We're off to a start! I had a blast writing this, and an exceptionally restful December break. I didn't do a huge amount of writing, but really enjoyed seeing this story take more and more shape in my mind as I planned and plotted. I'll love hearing your thoughts, and I'll try to post at least once a month (twice is my goal!).
I hope you had a lovely end of 2022 and are kicking off the new year in grand style. Thank you so much for reading!
Wishing you all the very best,
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