Woo-hoo! Chapter two!
Thank you so much for your amazing reviews and thoughts about the story so far. It is always an immense encouragement, and as busy as life is becoming (February looks terrifyingly busy!), you make it so fun not just to write and revise and explore the story, but also to hit the upload button to share. Thank you again!
Thank you for the warm welcome back, LeafGreene01! I hope the new year has started off amazingly for you! :)
Skyrider45, as always I really enjoyed hearing what stood out to you, from the trailer/Sunnyside connection to re-framing it (through Brand no less) as one step away from communing with nature. In December. :) I'm also loving how FP has been thrust into a caretaker role that is giving him a chance to grow (and shine!). They do need some fun, and while it's always complicated, I'm enjoying their adventure in the forest immensely. :)
Natureliesbeneath, thank you so much for your review as well! I'm loving the 'good dizzy' vibe and I hope that continues and only gets to be 'better dizzy' - without any nausea. :) I think your timeframe of six months is a good one for Jug, and everything being accelerated will be a challenge for the wolf pack. I'm excited to see where that crops up as things start coming together for the tour! And yes, while it's satisfying to see FP take on a caretaker position, he's definitely jumping into the deep end with two fairly non-compliant patients. :-D I love your reflections on the dynamic between Archie and Jughead, and yes - I think the band they're touring with should be interesting. Your predictions have some potential, too, though I'll be waiting to see what happens along with everyone. :-D
I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well!
-Button
00000
Betty laughed again. It felt really good to laugh.
There was not a whole lot of laughter in her household these days, and the time that she spent outside of the house felt largely overshadowed by the knowledge that she had set something immense into motion that she was powerless to stop.
That 'something' might have serious - perhaps even deadly - consequences for a whole lot of people.
Including her boyfriend.
Somehow the circumstances had translated into Jughead being the only person with whom Betty felt like laughing; he seemed to be the only one who could effectively give her permission to be that lighthearted and feel much of anything other than a penance-level hangover of guilt, remorse, and anxiety.
Betty hated the neediness of that, and the pressure that it automatically put on Jughead.
Not that Jughead had any idea about this dynamic, of course; Betty was bound and determined to keep that secret for as long as possible.
Maybe that was part of why she could laugh with Jughead. Hiding the fact that Betty currently needed him so profoundly for her mental health – her happiness – was the only good thing that she could actually do at this point, and so she was doing that with all of her might.
It didn't hurt that Jughead made it so easy, too.
"So I still think I win the title of least useful person going on the tour," Jughead was saying with a mischievous smile that made him look so much younger than Betty was accustomed to him seeming. "The pen may be mightier than the sword, but I won't be able to lift either unless these biceps come a lot further than I think is possible over the next week."
The tour was beginning in a week.
Betty was not permitted to go, at least not so far. Hermione Lodge was meeting with her mother the next day, and she seemed optimistic about changing Alice Cooper's mind; Betty had a hard time picturing that, though, and she fervently hoped that Hermione knew something that she did not.
All thoughts of her mother, Hermione, and even her odds of being allowed to join all of her friends on the tour fled, though, when Jughead lifted an arm in front of his laptop's webcam and flexed.
"Wow." Betty was surprised to hear the intensity of her voice, but she meant it: whatever the surgery had done, and whatever recovery still lay ahead of Jughead, there was a change already and it was noticeable.
He looked good. Very good.
Jughead only looked embarrassed, though. "You don't have to coddle me or be a – well, a cheerleader. I'm not-,"
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I mean it. You look good," Betty interjected as she realized that Jughead had thought she was not in earnest. "You're looking better every day. Maybe it's harder for you to see, but I can see the changes, and-,"
"The camera adds ten pounds," Brand's voice boomed from somewhere behind the webcam.
"Not to what I saw yesterday over the same exact camera," Betty called back loudly, even though Brand could evidently hear her normal speaking voice through the connection.
Jughead's expression had softened into a pleased, embarrassed smile – and Betty was warmed by how the embarrassment seemed to have changed in quality: instead of being mortified, Jughead now looked flattered.
Betty felt an almost irrepressible urge to say more, to keep him always feeling that way, or at least make him feel that way whenever Betty was there to metaphorically hold up a mirror and show Jughead how he looked to her.
Not that Betty could do a whole lot more to keep that expression on Jughead's face while Brand Davies was in the room.
And of course, all too soon, Jughead would have to leave the call. He'd blocked out time just after school for their talks, conveniently fitting them in before Betty's mother got off of work, but Brand and FP were strict about making sure that Jughead got another hike ("another stroll" as he'd described it) after that before they all cooked dinner together.
Betty could not complain too much; it was clearly a regimen that was working wonders on Jughead, both physically and psychologically.
As Brand laughingly conceded Betty's point and Jughead began issuing teasing orders to his godfather to clear out and give him privacy on the call, Betty could feel her shoulders relaxing.
Surely everything would be okay. They were all going to pull together, and it would be just fine.
Only with that thought came a sudden, flooding feeling of urgency about the tour. The whole experience was going to be insanely busy for everyone. There would be far less time for E-mails, texts, and video calls.
In order for Betty and Jughead to pull together during the tour, they would no doubt need to be together.
With new resolve, after the phone call disconnected, Betty began to type up a list of arguments that she could bring to bear on her mother's objections.
Somehow, some way, she just had to join everyone else on the tour.
00000
Kevin hung up his cellphone and then turned to face his father, who had clearly overheard the conversation.
"I guess I'm going to have to go on this tour too," Sheriff Keller said with a feigned grimace.
"Oh, you'll have to try a lot harder than that to come anywhere close to believably selling that you aren't thrilled," Kevin observed. He was smiling. " And hey. I guess my audition went well."
"Went well? You brought down the house." Tom shook his head in amazement, and his disbelief was every bit as fresh as when he'd been standing in Archie's home while the band riffed and had Kevin joined in by singing short bursts of lyrics here and there.
Eventually they'd felt ready to try out the song that Archie had said was written with Kevin specifically in mind. It was a duet with Veronica, but there was no question that Kevin was the featured vocalist in every way.
The band had been warmed up and relaxed; they'd hit the first chord like pros, and then Kevin had belted out the first call to Veronica's response – and their voices had wound around each other in complicated patterns throughout the up-tempo chorus.
And then Veronica had let Kevin take the first verse as a solo, something that had been unplanned but left every member of the band grinning when they heard the effect.
It had been electrifying.
Gunnar, who had quite frankly been surly up until they'd sat down with instruments – something to do with his father, Archie had whispered hurriedly to Kevin when they'd first arrived –, had been the first to move after they'd ended the song with a crash that sounded intentional but was not. The drummer had improvised a celebratory roll and then leapt forward to shake Kevin's hand, declaring exuberantly that the handshake made it official: there was no way Kevin could refuse to tour with them.
Keller had watched silently as it all played out, not wanting to influence Kevin's performance or decision. He didn't want to take any part of the experience out of his son's hands – but all the same, Tom had been relieved when Kevin was not bowled over by the offer. Instead, Kevin had immediately countered with a request to record together first so that they would have had at least a few sessions together to adjust the songs in the set list based on his input.
Tom was darn proud of the poise and confidence it took to say that to longtime friends who were offering what looked a whole lot like a very golden ticket.
"See what I mean? You're not even remotely calm about this whole thing. I'm guessing you want to sit in on the recording session as well?" Kevin asked the question as if it were rhetorical, or perhaps meant in jest, but Tom knew better; there was a look in Kevin's eye that said he was hoping his father would know the right answer.
"If you don't mind, I would like to be there for parts of it. Absolutely," Tom guessed. He was gratified when Kevin hid a smile. Good; he'd guessed correctly. "Why don't you text me when you start laying down tracks and I'll come hear the finished product. How's that?"
"Ahhh, so you want to miss all of the hard work and show up for the fun parts," Kevin teased with an appreciative laugh. "Smart."
"I do have a day job. I for one won't be quitting anytime soon," Tom bantered back with a smile. "But yes, I'd like to be there. And I'll have to see what I can figure out so that I can take at least part of the tour off so that I can travel with you. The only hiccup may be the fact that I've taken an awful lot of time lately."
Kevin bit his lip and Tom regretted his words instantly.
"Not that I wasn't eager to-,"
"Nah, I get it Dad, and I really appreciate it. I do." Kevin was quick to reassure his father, and Tom was grateful that it sounded completely genuine. "And I'd love to have you along for at least part of the tour. You get some time off at Christmas, right?"
"It's the end of the year, and even with record amounts of time off this year," Tom said with a teasing lilt in his voice, "well, you know me."
"Oh, let me guess. You still have two full weeks of vacation left?" Kevin was grinning with anticipation now. "So you can go for the whole thing?"
"Not quite. I have five days, though, which means I can arrange schedules so that two weekends-,"
"Got it. Nine days. Sold!" Kevin was almost crowing as he punched the air once in victory.
Yep; Tom had definitely made the right call.
There was only one other question, and it was not one that the sheriff wanted to raise with his son. Not without a whole lot more clue about how it would go.
Joaquin would be out of protective custody eventually. So far Kevin had not said anything about him, or about the situation, or even about the time that they'd all spent together recently.
The tour might be a well-timed break for Kevin to get some perspective. If so, the teen would likely be more ready to talk at the end of it.
Tom could wait that long if he had to..
It didn't hurt seeing Kevin's delight as the teen began chopping vegetables while he lightly sang snatches of a song and drummed his fingers absently along the kitchen table.
That was more than enough to keep Tom happy until he could learn more.
00000
Sarah called a halt to the sparring. "I need to go now; I have a few afternoon commitments."
"Awww," Veronica protested immediately, but her eyes widened in horrified recognition when she realized that she was not the only one who had groaned in protest.
"Jinx, mija?" Hermione laughed as she wiped her brow. "Seriously, though, this was great, Sarah. Thank you so much for being willing to work with all of us."
"I'm happy to do it. Besides, it's great practice for me," Sarah said graciously. "Teaching is an important skill in my line of work, and it helps that you are all fast learners. You're really getting the hang of it in particular, Betty."
Betty grinned, pleased by the praise and also just feeling a heady sense of relief after the strenuous workout.
"Although Alice, you need to keep working on your form – and your control," Sarah added. "I love the enthusiasm, but without better discipline you're going to hurt yourself. Or someone else."
"You've got it," Alice said, saluting smartly.
It was not entirely clear whether she was being sarcastic, but Agent Quinn responded with a smile and did not seem to be concerned that there was any sort of tone.
Veronica was struck by the thought that she should take notes; it was entirely possible that Agent Quinn had believed the comment to be sarcastic, but had made the decision to simply ignore it – and that had made it a complete nonissue.
It was a total power move.
And let's be honest, Veronica could use a few more of those in her repertoire.
She was particularly anxious as she looked ahead to her impending meeting with Mr. Andrews. Veronics was not blind; her role managing the business side of the band with Mary Andrews had grown far beyond anyone's expectations, and it made perfect sense to replace the teenager with an experienced professional. It might even be foolish not to.
It wasn't even a bad thing, either – not really. Veronica was having trouble sleeping, and sometimes even trouble catching her breath, due to a near-constant feeling of drowning in the face of so many unfamiliar tasks and demands on a scale that defied her to even come up with workable solutions.
It was laughable for Veronica to even attempt aiming for professional, slick, or innovative plans.
All the same, the passing of the whole thing to another person would be difficult, though. It would mark the moment when Veronica became 'just' a band member.
Maybe she'd dug the pit for herself, too, though that thought did not soothe Veronica one bit. She hadn't exactly tried to keep her ego in check: for example, when Alice Carter had self-deprecatingly described her own role as designer and sometimes-choreographer in terms of its expendability, Veronica had privately agreed, contrasting Alice's role with her own.
Only now the flaw in Veronica's position was obvious: anything actually important, any non-expendable role, would be given to a professional far, far earlier in the process than would Alice's more creative role.
Moreover, as much as Veronica had been relieved when Hermione had embraced the idea of becoming a force to be reckoned with – becoming something like a parallel security team, one that was stealthy and off-the-books, but always ready – that had come at a steep price. Veronica had been forced to cede decision-making almost entirely to her mother.
Hermione now called the shots for their inner circle of four; she had been the one to reach out to Sarah Quinn about training, albeit on Betty's recommendation.
The loss of control stung. The loss of responsibility did not feel like the relief it should have represented.
Maybe that was her own fault too. Veronica had long prided herself on being capable. Others might be dreamers, she'd always admitted, but she had something else: she was a doer.
Only now, however, as others showed more fully their capacities for developing and overseeing increasingly elaborate plans and systems, it was obvious that a 'doer' could be replaced far more easily than a dreamer.
It didn't help that, in spite of priding herself on her productivity and pragmatism, Veronica had never thought of herself as less creative than Archie or Betty or Jughead; she'd instead – pridefully, foolishly – considered herself to be balanced. She had conceived of herself as the creative who had the rare gift of bringing practicality to bear as well.
Veronica had fancied herself having the uncommon ability to translate her castles in the sky into actual real estate.
What she was learning now, harshly and abruptly, was that undirected creativity was common among her peers, making it seem cheaper. Practicality might even be legitimately harder to come by in highschool. But most adults in Veronica's life had practicality down to a science that she could not hope to approach as a teenager who had no work experience - and very little life experience, for that matter.
The end result was bleak: the adults respected and got out of the way of the dreamers, especially when lightning struck as it had for Archie's songwriting. The adults reached down and took over Veronica's work.
The adults simply assumed that they had more expertise, more experience, and would therefore have an easier time taking on the challenges – and yield better results.
And the worst part of it was that they were completely, devastatingly correct.
Topping it all off, it seemed as though all of Veronica's friends and classmates had somehow understood this dynamic from the outset. Kevin had barely been asked to join the tour – a decision that, for the record, Veronica wholeheartedly supported – before he began demanding creative input.
Kevin hadn't spared a thought for being involved in the business side of the band. He was no fool.
And now Veronica couldn't help but feel foolish. As usual, she was missing something that was somehow obvious to everyone else. Again and again this seemed to happen.
Very soon she would have to face the music, (ha ha), and have that conversation with Mr. Andrews about giving up everything but her singing role within the band.
Maybe Veronica could try to pitch in more with the songwriting and develop that creative side. That was the obvious strategy. But honestly, it was not just intimidating to consider raising her voice alongside Archie's and Gunnar's – and now Kevin's – in the free-for-all method of songwriting that they'd developed over the previous weeks.
The bigger problem was insurmountable in part because of its simplicity: songwriting with the band was unappealing.
Veronica loved to sing, and she might write a song (or maybe even dozens of songs) when inspiration struck, but her process was nothing like Archie's. She did not sit down to write a song by declaring it time to write and then summoning the creative gods to her.
For Veronica, sitting in on a songwriting session was boring and exasperating instead of inspiring; creative juices simply refused to start flowing when the project was somebody else's.
Maybe that was one more sign. Maybe along with being insanely prideful, she was selfish and needed a songwriting session to be all about her ideas. It certainly felt like a character flaw in this band, since the other members could finish one another's sentences (no – improve one another's sentences) without blinking an eye.
So Veronica had carved out her niche. Managing the business side had been her outlet, and her way of being more than just the-singer-who-does-not-songwrite.
Now Veronica needed to consider what the new changes coming would mean for her identity – her position – within the band.
So far none of the options looked attractive.
00000
"He did what?" SAC Wilson asked.
She was on the phone while Sarah Quinn was waiting patiently for her time and attention. This was not a scheduled meeting, and it was clear that something had come up.
"Oh, he didn't? He wasn't the one? Well, then, what exactly led to-,"
Wilson's eyebrows were raised as someone cut her off and began speaking more loudly through the phone. Quinn could not quite make out words, but it was… snippy.
Finally there was a long silence. The person on the other end said something then, much more tentatively.
"Is it my turn to talk?" Wilson's voice was dangerously pleasant, and based on the silence that followed on the phone, Sarah was not the only one who could tell.
When Sarah stood up and pointed at the door, indicating that she would wait outside, the SAC nodded and waited for the door to close before continuing the conversation.
Sarah could still hear Wilson through the door, but it was muffled enough that the words were indistinct.
Quinn was glad about that. SAC Wilson was a force to be reckoned with, and when she got angry it was in a forceful, precise, drilling manner that made everyone in the field office sit up straighter and resolve to more perfectly embody the ideals of the Bureau.
Truth be told, Sarah didn't need any more guilt right now about all of the ways that she already knew she was falling short of those ideals.
Wilson appeared in the doorway just a few minutes later, which was eminently predictable. The SAC was also known for being efficient.
"Come in; come in. Sorry about that, but 'the unexpected' is the order of the day," Aaditi said with a rueful smile.
They settled into chairs.
"How are you doing?" Wilson asked, leaning forward and focusing intently on Quinn.
The question was SAC Wilson's typical start to a meeting. It could have seemed like scrutiny, or as though the SAC was questioning Quinn's abilities, but instead it always felt like a relief – a bit like letting out a long, deep breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was something that almost everyone commented on, and in some measure a thing of legend: it was uncanny how welcomed and seen Wilson could make someone feel in just a matter of moments.
Sarah willingly relaxed; it was a reminder that she had support and in some measure friendship here in this office. She would find help, too, she was certain. "I'm here to talk about arrangements for the boys. Longer-term arrangements."
SAC Wilson's eyes flew to her phone and then she looked up at Sarah again. "Hm. That's a popular topic today."
Quinn frowned. If someone had been on the phone about the boys, that was not just weird – it implied that something was going on.
"Someone called you about Joaquin and Max?" Sarah was already mentally cataloging a list of suspects who might have phoned the SAC.
"Oh. No." Wilson ran a hand over her eyes wearily. "I mean, yes, I have heard from the Davieses about Max today – and every day lately, now that they've up and decided that it's been long enough and he should be done working with us – but today's surprise has been about Finn and Sweet Pea."
Hmmm.
The fact that Wilson was sharing this information so freely suggested that Sarah was about to become involved in whatever was going on with Finn and Sweet Pea. That probably made it even more pressing that she get Max and Joaquin stable situations as soon as possible, since her time might become further divided in just a few moments.
That was an unhappy prospect.
"Well…" Sarah hesitated as she chose her words carefully, "the Davieses may not be wrong. I think Max may need a few more interviews first, and of course reaching the point of being completely 'done' with investigations might be years in the future for him-,"
That was a depressing fact and it hinged on some horrifying stories that Max had related and some corroborating – damning – evidence that the FBI had successfully gathered.
"-but if their home is as secure as people say, and the placement is sufficiently discreet, then I think it's a good idea. It's time we got Max to a place where he can start making real long-term attachments. It's time for him to begin figuring out his life."
Wilson nodded. Her face showed so much sympathy that Sarah could almost believe that the SAC had spent time with Max and seen the winsome, troubling strategies he deployed again and again – strategies that had kept him alive. Max was immensely endearing; he was thoughtful, observant, and sweet enough for it to be a constant surprise… but it was heartbreakingly clear to everyone working with Max that genuine trust was a long way off for him.
Not that there was ever enough time in Quinn's busy day to dwell on Max's situation for long enough to fully consider and process his situation.
Sarah tried to shake off the rising stress that came from that thought. She bit the bullet and asked the obvious question: "So what is the surprise about Finn and Sweet Pea?"
"Guess who's moved in with Tim and Roger?"
"Finn did." Everyone knew that. Sarah was suddenly unsure of herself, though; if the answer was that simple, Wilson would not be asking the question. "Didn't he?"
"Yes. And now Sweet Pea has. As of today." SAC Wilson's expression was dark, but she seemed to take some small pleasure in Sarah's shocked reaction.
"Uhhh, that's not good. Do we need to go over there and pick him up?" Sarah only narrowly avoided stuttering as she began mentally calculating the strain to their resources if they added a third displaced teen to their – let's be real, to her – workload.
It wasn't pretty.
It would have to happen, though. Sarah was extremely reluctant to outsource Sweet Pea's care to someone less familiar with the investigation and its complexities.
"There are two ways to play this," Wilson said carefully.
Sarah leaned forward and paid rapt attention; if Wilson saw any other way forward for this situation, that would be a godsend.
Wilson steepled her fingers and examined Sarah's expression before she continued. "Tim is cleared for two foster children. Local channels are collapsing under the sheer volume of minors who were just picked up, so there was not just a panic phone call to Tim, but likely also a great deal of pressure for him to take in Sweet Pea. That may mean that most people would not expect Sweet Pea and Finn to be in the same location – for all of the same reasons leading us to think that it could be a bad idea."
There was logic; Quinn would give SAC Wilson that much. She was just not sure it was sound logic.
"I don't know. There are a lot of reasons. Visibility, for one," Sarah said, her tone of disbelief making it clear that she was not yet sold on Wilson's pitch. "How do you hide someone like Sweet Pea?"
"That's what I'm saying," Wilson continued, a note of impatience entering her voice. "We're not hiding him. Not really, anyway – we're tasked with protecting Sweet Pea. I am fully confident that Tim can do that. The person we are hiding is Finn, who is a whole lot less conspicuous."
Sarah frowned, but she was starting to see the idea more clearly. It might even be clever, though the phrase 'too clever by half' did come to mind. "You think that once people know Sweet Pea is living there they will assume he's the only one living with Tim – and take their search for Finn somewhere else?"
"I think that anyone who knows Sweet Pea was sent to live with Tim will assume that Finn was sent somewhere else. If we go down that road, that is."
"Well…" Sarah made a face; it was true, but there were an awful lot of other factors. "Is Sweet Pea able and willing to keep Finn hidden? That might not be easy. Can Tim manage both a teenager and a baby?"
"Tim was expecting a teenager when he became a foster parent," Wilson reminded her. "He adores Finn and they've bonded impressively already. But there's another factor that makes this more likely to work: of the two, Tim is not the one Finn reaches for first."
Sarah blinked. That didn't make any sense at all. "Finn prefers a teenager he's never met before to the man who has been his primary caregiver for weeks? That doesn't sound right. Babies don't have Serpent loyalty or anything ridiculous like-,"
Then the penny dropped. Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "Oh."
"Yes. Exactly." SAC Wilson did smile this time. "It seems that Sweet Pea was Finn's caregiver, perhaps even his primary caregiver, for some time. That leads me to suspect something else: I don't think Sweet Pea's placement with Tim was blind luck. FP Jones definitely knew all of this, and it is quite likely that Brandon Davies knew it as well. My guess is that someone pulled a few strings."
"Well, is this a healthy arrangement for Sweet Pea?" Sarah was certainly not in the habit of asking teenagers to care for young children.
"Apparently it's a responsibility he wants to take on in some measure," Wilson said with a grimace. "He wants to be a role model or an older brother of sorts. That much is good; I'm just not sure what that would involve modeling for Finn."
Wilson shrugged, but that did seem to sum up the situation in a nutshell.
"I'd rather not see Finn grow into a jacket and a bike," Quinn said dourly.
"Remember, it won't be Sweet Pea living alone with Finn. Tim's smart and trained; he'll be watching for issues." Wilson shrugged again. "Think it over and let me know what you think. I value your input, and I am not at all sure of my instinct to leave them where they are, undisturbed. I also don't want to set them up for problems if we can anticipate them."
No pressure, Sarah thought grimly.
"But see to Max and Joaquin first," Wilson directed. "You can back burner this for a day or so, and give it your full attention after Max's placement is in process and we have a plan for Joaquin."
A day or so. Ha. Sarah had been working at full tilt already, and only added to her commitments when she'd guiltily offered too little too late in the way of self defense training to some of those who were in the middle of everything.
Well, it was time to 'lean in' and work even harder, apparently.
Sarah did spare a pleased thought for Max's imminent placement, though, and how much of an improvement it ought to be for him.
There would be fresh air, more nurture and attention than the FBI could afford to give him, and perhaps a life that was filled with animals and new skills and responsibilities. It sounded restful and challenging at the same time, instead of stressful and repetitive – which was surely how life felt for Max at the moment.
That reflection reminded Sarah of another situation that was reportedly going very well, a fact which gave her no end of peace of mind: Jughead was apparently getting stronger by the day, Davies was healing up nicely, and even FP was reporting that the break was going even better than they had hoped.
Sarah really needed to get herself an extended break so that she could hike and climb and enjoy the peaceful outdoors. From where she was standing, that sounded downright idyllic.
00000
"Get back on the trail, you idiot. You're standing on ice."
"It's not really ice, Brand. It's all patchy and muddy, so I've got plenty of traction. And the view is insane!" Jones wrapped one arm around the trunk of a skinny, twisted birch tree that looked like it had had a hard life before finally giving up the ghost. The kid leaned over the edge of the waterfall to peer down.
They'd been walking along a gentle trail that led from the bus down into an unfamiliar area of the park. The trail was not long, but it wended its way down around a series of cascades so they'd no doubt have to climb back up to complete the loop. Brand was not looking forward to that, but they'd take it slow - and it was finally starting to pay out. This was the first large falls they'd come to, but they had been promised at least three impressive drops on the short loop. How large this one was remained to be seen, since they were approaching it from above, but it was definitely more than thirty feet tall.
"What I'm hearing is you can't actually see what's ice and what's not. Get back on the trail. Did you not see the many, many warnings not to leave the trail?" Not to mention the ominous plaque at the trailhead that was dedicated to a not-insignificant number of people who had died on this trail, Brand added silently.
"In a minute. Besides, there's basically a trail leading right here, so obviously people come out here for the view all the time." Jones reached out one hand so that he could angle his camera down and back, no doubt capturing some unusual view of the waterfall that would be bested in an instant by a drone's footage.
Maybe Brand needed to buy him a drone instead of a new zoom lens.
Or maybe that was a moot point since Brand was going to have a heart attack in the five full minutes it was probably going to take him to follow Jones up a muddy rise to his current perch on an earthen ledge that jutted over a steep drop directly alongside the probably fifty- or sixty-foot waterfall.
The kid had a head start on him, since Brand hadn't paid much attention to where Jones was wandering until the kid had reached the top and started hanging over the edge as though he were posing for an especially tasteless advertisement for life insurance.
It didn't help Brand's blood pressure that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that FP was going to kill him if the older man stumbled onto yet another example of "them" breaking the rules.
FP would never believe that it was entirely his own dang fault, either; Jones had taken his father at his word and been striving to have fun – and had taken to defining that as whatever appealed to his fool brain at a given moment.
To be fair, Brand recognized many of the kid's choices as those he might have made himself – had actually made himself in the past, in some instances – were it not for his injuries.
But still. For as long as Brand was injured, Jones needed to slow his emaciated self down and let his godfather keep up and give him the protection they both knew the kid needed, if for no other reason than to preserve the adults' sanity.
Nobody needed to experience more of that kind of worry. Not out here in the woods.
Not in a box or with a fox, for that matter, Brand thought in frustration as he made his way toward Jones.
The teen was not even attempting to give the impression that he was being careful.
"I will call your father," Brand threatened, wanting to take the words back before they were even fully spoken.
What an incompetent guardian he was turning out to be now that he was slowed by injury. It was embarrassing; he'd prided himself on using his brains more than even his considerable physical ability, but it was becoming obvious that he had relied a lot more on brute force than anything else with Jones.
The kid was not willingly responding to anything else at the moment, anyway.
"Give it your best shot. There's no reception here. He said he was taking the dogs back to the bus so that we could practice again, so he'll probably show up soon anyway," Jones said absently, clicking away and fiddling with the screen on the back of his camera so he could better see what his photos looked like. "You can tell him then. He's the one who wants me to have fun. And I'm building strength. And enjoying nature. And-,"
It was taking less time to get up the steep rise than Brand had feared; his knee was getting stronger, the footing was more sure than it appeared, and as a result he was already coming up behind the teenager.
So maybe he'd use a little brute strength to get the kid back under control and back to safety. Surely FP would not object, not under these circumstances.
"Hey. I'll call Dad," the little brat warned. Apparently he'd intuited Brand's next move.
"Give it your best shot. There's no reception here," Brand parroted back sarcastically.
"He said he'd come find us on the trail, so he's probably not far away. If I yell, he'll come running. Besides, do you want to make a bet about who's gonna end up at the bottom of a waterfall impaled on jagged rocks if you try anything right now?" Jones was smug. Very smug.
The kid didn't tend to project that kind of confidence unless he was actually on solid footing; it was almost enough to make Brand stand down.
Almost.
Only then a quick rush of wind came up and Jones must have had a mild wave of dizziness or vertigo or something – his arms flew up and he grasped a tree branch that was just above his head.
It broke off in his hands and the wood seemed to disintegrate into dust; it hadn't been obvious, since the leaves had fallen for the season, but the white birch tree that the kid had been anchoring himself with was very, very dead.
The kid teetered, even more off balance. His eyes flew to Brand instead of looking for another source of stability, and that was enough to move him from teetering to falling.
Thank heavens Brand was within reach.
Brand seized the kid's coat by the collar, just in case the worst were to happen, and then swept Jones' feet out from under him with his bad leg – so that Brand could continue to support his weight with his good knee.
The kid yelped as his camera went flying, but he fell like a well-aimed tree. Brand guided him onto the pine-needle-strewn ground, avoiding the many rocks jutting out of the soil around them.
"You were saying?" Brand asked, his voice calm and sarcastic in a manner that belied his pounding heart.
"Come on, Brand. I wouldn't have slipped if you weren't coming up behind me, all menacing and-,"
Brand gave Jones a skeptical look.
"Yeah, never mind. Thanks." Jones looked at his hands, which were covered in bits of dead bark from the limb he'd grabbed. They were shaking. He was breathing quickly, but it didn't sound anything like a panic attack, at least not yet. And maybe it never would again, now that the kid had his thyroid fixed.
Jones looked up at him, his expression suddenly guilty. "Are you okay? Did you hurt your knee? Or your shoulder?"
"I used good technique," Brand said gently, resting a hand on the kid's right shoulder and squeezing him reassuringly. "I'm fine."
Jones lurched toward Brand to hug him. His arms wrapped painfully over Brand's injured shoulder and he clung to his godfather like he was in danger of being swept away.
"I'm okay, kid-,"
"Brand-," Jones had only just choked out the word when Brand felt it too.
The earth beneath them was crumbling, and no doubt about to engage in the ubiquitous process of erosion.
Crap.
Brand should have gotten them both further away from the edge when he'd had the chance.
The dead tree had probably been the last thing holding this soil in place, and no doubt doing a poor job of it too. Their combined weight and Jones' sharp fall seemed to have been enough to change all of that.
Brand tried to remedy his mistake, scrambling backward and hauling the kid with him, but there was almost no leverage to be had with the ground beneath them literally falling away. The dead tree was snapping apart – almost shattering – as the massive ledge gave way.
There was a horrifyingly long few seconds as it took place, during which neither Brand nor Jones could get out of the danger zone but both could thoroughly consider what was about to happen.
Or maybe… maybe Jones could get out.
Brand still didn't have much leverage, but he tried everything in his power to effectually shove the kid toward solid ground. Since it no longer made a difference if Brand's movements caused the ledge to fall away faster, he could throw all his weight and strength into the movement.
"Brand!" Jones shouted his name accusingly, so maybe he thought Brand's impulsive movement was going to be the reason the outcropping fell, but thankfully the kid was still too weak to fight him.
Maybe it worked; the kid might have made it to safety. Brand could not tell, though, because his attempt to get his godson to safety had indeed made the shelf of dirt collapse - and he was falling with it.
Only then, as soon as the fall had begun, Brand's body snapped backward, and his fall stopped – at least temporarily.
Something had snagged the collar of Brand's winter coat, almost exactly the way he'd grabbed Jones to keep him from falling.
It was awkward and painful, but it was a chance and Brand wasn't about to miss it.
Brand grabbed for a handhold among the newly exposed rocks jutting from the steep drop that was carved out around the waterfall. The misting spray from the water was thankfully not too thick this high up, and since these rocks had been covered by dirt until a moment ago, they were not yet slick.
Brand concentrated as hard as he could on not injuring his shoulder – good technique, he reminded himself – as he climbed.
Concentrating on anything other than the rushing water that was right there and studiously avoiding looking down at the plunge that ended in an ominous mist of water that no doubt hid dozens of previous landslides, boulders and all, seemed like a wise move.
The snag on his collar had seemed to release as soon as Brand had gotten a handhold and then a foothold, but as he began climbing it tightened once more.
Rats. He was going to have to get his coat free from whatever it was caught on or else abandon the coat, which would be tricky to manage in his current position.
Only then the snag began lifting Brand – or at least some of his weight.
It didn't make sense, but Brand wasn't going to question it; the lift took enough of his weight that he was able to make an improbable lunge up to a promising handhold and then the snag released to allow him to scramble swiftly the rest of the way over the top.
Speed was imperative, before any other sections of dirt and rock could get ideas about giving way. Even as Brand hauled himself back to relative safety, he was painfully aware that the face of the cliff could crumble away again at any moment.
Jones was right there in his face, too, when he made it over the top - though at least the kid was smart enough to scurry backward away from the edge.
Brand followed without hesitation and pushed Jones even further away than where the kid had stopped; the waterfall had newly unimpeded access to soil that might not even have a few old roots to hold it in place. This was not a time to gamble.
The two were panting as they came to a stop.
"Did you just-," Brand wasn't sure he should even ask the question, because it seemed both impossible and obviously the only possible explanation at the same time.
"I… used good technique." Jones let out a wheezy laugh as he continued to catch his breath. His eyes traveled up to something behind Brand, though, and he sobered quickly.
Brand blinked at the kid in astonishment. Adrenaline could give people what appeared to be superhuman strength, but Brand was going to have to seriously reconsider–
Then a firm hand dropped on Brand's shoulder from behind and, in his jumpy state, Brand startled – and nearly put the newcomer into a submission hold.
"Calm down, Brandon," FP's voice rumbled. "Jug's not the one who hauled you up. And you're not in trouble. This time."
Brand released FP's wrist.
"Is that your camera, Jughead?" FP asked, pointing a few feet away.
"Uh, yeah." Bizarrely, Jones sounded a whole lot more scared now than he had while the world was trying to swallow him up and dump him off of a cliff.
Which probably had more to do with the time he'd had to absorb the situation than his fear of what FP was about to say or do.
Probably.
Only FP seemed surprisingly calm, if slightly out of breath from whatever sprinting he'd had to do in order to grab Brand's coat and give him a fighting chance.
"Come with me," FP said with a gesture to indicate that he wanted them to continue down the trail alongside – and then below – the waterfall.
Which was probably a smart idea; they should get to a place where they could not have any further incidents.
They made their way down until the trail opened up and gave them an excellent view of where the ledge had given way.
Oh.
It had been difficult to see from above, but the landslide that they'd caused and been caught up in had been directly above a second ledge - and the lower one looked like it was supported by an immense boulder.
"Yeah, you'd have fallen four, maybe five feet," FP confirmed what was now obvious. "I don't need your knee injured further, but neither of you were going to die."
FP turned on them both more angrily then: "Not that either of you knew that when you made the decision to go out there."
"It wasn't the kid's fault. I, um, thought it was stable," Brand said, trying to project an attitude that was both penitent and abashed. "There was something that looked like a trail leading up there, so it was confusing. It won't happen again."
"How far away do you think I was? Keeping in mind that I managed to grab you before you fell?" FP asked with a disbelieving look. "Do you honestly think I don't already know exactly what happened?"
Ah. Right. The idea that FP had not been right there was foolish. In fact, the man had most likely been directly below them on the trail, making his way around the trail loop in reverse in order to meet up with them, Brand realized.
Which begged another question.
"You didn't see him?" Brand demanded of Jones.
The kid grabbed his camera and he began looking through the photos. "Oh." He kept scrolling. "Oh, wow. There are a lot of shots of Dad, actually. The camera was still facing us when it fell, and it kept shooting. Wow."
Brilliant. He'd immortalized the whole thing, at least in digital form.
"Do not let those photos go anywhere. Not ever," FP advised swiftly.
"Delete them," Brand corrected. "Right this minute."
"Ohhh, not just yet." FP held out a hand for the camera with a smirk. "These might be worthwhile for me to hang onto. As a reminder."
God only knew what the reminder would be, but Brand knew better than to inquire further.
So did Jones.
They were both quiet as they continued down the trail together. FP made a point of carrying the camera, snapping photos here and there with what appeared to be pleased satisfaction.
The whole incident should have toned down the kid's sass, but something had clearly gotten into Jones. His body language was radiating nervous energy as he walked.
Or maybe it was just an effect of the healing power of being out in nature, and getting the full experience of it trying to kill him at every turn, Brand thought dryly.
"You seem to be walking well today, Jughead. Should we pick up where we left off?" FP asked abruptly.
Brand raised an eyebrow. The fall and subsequent recovery had involved a lot of exertion, so he thought it was more likely they needed to get the kid back to the bus in order to keep him from overdoing it.
Or… they could pick up where they'd left off. Brand sized Jones up, and the kid didn't look exhausted so much as jittery and like he needed something to focus on. Maybe that was what FP was sensing, too. It honestly wasn't a terrible idea.
"Killer?" Brand wasn't sure he could speak for Jones, but he had a pretty good idea that the kid would be up for it.
"Yeah. I want to try again." Jones answered eagerly. He was already lighting up and Brand could see him surveying their surroundings.
"No running." FP's eyes were narrowed with suspicion over the kid's eagerness. Jones' flight response was unusually strong; this had been a surprise, and it was proving extremely difficult to override.
"Scout's honor, Dad," Jones said swiftly, making some bizarre saluting motion with one hand that didn't resemble anything that a scout would recognize.
"Was that a joke?" FP looked angry again. "After what you've already pulled today, you had best not be joking about this, boy. You're going to do long-term damage if you don't-,"
"No. Honest. It wasn't a joke; I won't run." Jones was trying to look sincere.
He was failing miserably.
"He won't." Brand spoke up to keep the situation from completely devolving. "I'll see to it. Personally."
Ah, now Jones looked sincere. Sincerely scared, that is.
FP cocked his head thoughtfully for a few moments and then he nodded. "All right. Three rounds, as long as Brandon makes sure that there is no running whatsoever."
Brand grinned at his godson, who twitched uncomfortably and moved a step away.
"You really shouldn't smile like that, Brand. It's creepy. You look like you're about to try and… hunt me," Jones said with a bravado that was audibly false.
"Well, maybe that's because I am." Brand's grin widened and the kid shrank back slightly before he realized he was doing it and squared his shoulders instead.
Man, whatever had inspired FP to come up with this training game was a gift. The whole thing was turning out to be pure genius.
"Should I count?" Brand asked with intense relish, making a point of sounding far too eager for the thrill of the chase.
Or the not-chase, as it was destined to be.
"Four minutes on the clock. Give him a fighting chance." FP was smiling with satisfaction again. He was also fiddling with the camera.
That should yield some amusing shots. Brand gave FP an approving nod.
"Seriously?" Jones had noticed the camera as well and looked a whole lot less happy about the idea.
"The photos won't go anywhere," FP said breezily. He raised the viewfinder to his eye. "Now… get moving."
Brand turned away from the kid and pulled out his phone to clock the four minutes.
He could hear Jones moving away.
The shutter clicked once or twice – and then gave a swift burst, just as Brand reached two hundred seconds in his count.
Good. That meant this should be fun.
And that was what they were here for, wasn't it?
00000
It's true; they cannot escape trouble. But they're getting a good break in their own chaotic way and everyone is doing their best to prepare for a successful tour. A tour that we might get to begin in the next chapter! :)
Thank you again for reading! I hope you have a wonderful weekend and continue to have a lovely start to 2023. Send notes as you are able! I will enjoy any and all of your thoughts and insights as I work on the next chapter! :)
-Button