Another chapter! Thank you so much for continuing to read along. :)
Thank you for the lovely review, too, Natureliesbeneath! I love your assessment of where relationships are strained and where they are holding up admirably - and where they have far too much potential to collapse completely if folks are not careful! I love the slomo train derailment analogy for quite a bit of what Brand and Jughead find to occupy themselves with... :) I was really glad you liked the Betty/Alice perspectives on Jughead slipping into a much more in-charge persona as a member of the security team, and I think you hit a whole lot of nails on the head about his growth in different contexts (and where we see the loose threads hanging out: when he's alone with the rest of the wolf pack). I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much, and I look forward to seeing how your predictions hold up as things continue to develop!
Enjoy!
-Button
00000
Jughead pushed the door open, once again leading Betty, Alice, and Mrs. A into what could potentially be a dangerous situation: they were leaving the venue and heading back to the hotel.
This moment felt a bit like walking into a treacherous part of the Southside, albeit without the dual protection/bullseye of his father's reputation.
Everything was quiet, but it felt like that could change in an instant.
Jughead motioned for the others to follow him, which they did without hesitation.
That might be the scariest part, Jughead thought; it was obvious that he was leading and they were following him willingly, if not eagerly – and so his decisions carried far more weight than he was used to.
It would be fine, though. Ideally, nobody would notice them or recognize them; they were not in the band, after all.
No sooner had Jughead thought that when a car pulled up and stopped directly in front of them.
Jughead moved swiftly, stepping between Mrs. Andrews and the car. He tried to look threatening as he glowered down at the darkly tinted windows.
"Get in, quick. Davies said he'd have my hide and my tip if you weren't at the hotel within ten minutes of him texting you the all-clear."
Sheriff Keller was leaning way over and grinning up at them from the driver's seat, clearly enjoying his role in their extraction from the venue.
"Tom! Well, I wouldn't want to jeopardize your tip," Mrs. Andrews said with a laugh. She began guiding Alice and then Betty into the back seat before Jughead could even give them the all-clear.
Jughead did one last scan of the sidewalk as he closed the door behind Mrs. Andrews and then got into the front passenger seat. "Did everyone get back okay, Sheriff Keller? Nothing happened?"
"I'm not even sure anyone knows we've left the venue," Keller said with a casual salute that could have been mocking. In fact, it probably was mocking. The sheriff was obviously amused by the whole situation now that Kevin had been completely removed from it – which had been weirdly fast.
It wasn't like Kevin was really at risk, after all. Jughead assumed that Kevin was the least recognizable performer on the tour, given how recently he'd joined the band. All the same, Sheriff Keller had responded as if Kevin had been as much a possible target as Veronica.
It might just be a father's protective instinct, but Jughead couldn't help but wonder what exactly had happened with Sheriff Keller, Kevin, and Joaquin.
Besides, you know, the obvious – the fact that Jughead had been attacked, drugged, and left unconscious in a bathtub just one floor below Joaquin's protective detail, and his ruthless assailants had apparently been in search of information that Joaquin possessed.
If they thought Jughead had access to information through Joaquin, what would they think of Kevin? He'd definitely be a target for the Southside contingent.
And it didn't make any difference whether either of them actually knew anything incriminating.
Kevin might not understand all of that, but his father definitely did.
So, upon reflection, they could both be in danger. Jughead was maybe even a little too clear on that fact for comfort, considering at least one malicious Southsider was still on the loose.
Not that anyone wanted to admit that a violent Southsider was running free. Jughead hadn't exactly heard a whole lot of straight talk on that subject.
The facts painted a picture, though: Brand had been brutalized while trying to buy Jughead time to disappear. The home invaders had tortured Brand for information about Jughead's whereabouts right up until Chloe Williams had infiltrated the crooked FBI contingent and convinced them to let her take over the questioning of Jughead's godfather.
Jughead also wondered if the torture had actually ended then. Brand had said that Williams was 'a little too good at faking it,' whatever that was supposed to mean. Who knows; maybe she'd hurt him by mistake.
Being undercover didn't always make a situation any less real.
In any event, Brand had been injured. Jughead blamed that for what had happened next: when Gladys had thought Brand was threatening Jughead, she had hit Brand so hard that he'd been hospitalized.
Correction: Brand had been in a coma.
Jughead still couldn't picture it, but Brand had been completely down for the count for a horrifying amount of time. That was what allowed an unknown intruder to get all the way into Brand's hospital room.
Nobody had any illusions about what could have happened next. It was a not-so-minor miracle that Brand was still breathing.
When pressed, the adults had claimed that there was not enough information to definitively identify the intruder, but in Jughead's mind there was no question: it had to have been a Southsider who was trying to finish the job they'd started. The dirty FBI personnel had all been picked up, or at least SAC Wilson had reason to believe they'd gotten every one of them. That left only one option, and there was no telling who else from the Southside had a dog in the fight.
Thank heavens Joaquin's testimony was now signed, sealed, and delivered.
And so, perhaps, it was no wonder that Sheriff Keller had gotten Kevin to safety first and asked questions later.
Jughead was still lost in thought when his phone – FP's phone – came to life with a series of vibrations.
The screen identified a caller: Hermione.
"Hello?" Jughead figured he might as well talk to Veronica's mother, if only to let her know that his dad didn't have his phone right now.
"You have to get Jughead to return my calls," Hermione Lodge said heatedly. "This is our only chance to control the narrative, and if you think for one minute that-,"
"Uh, this isn't-,"
Jughead only realized that Mrs. Lodge could be heard by everyone in the vehicle when a firm hand removed the phone from his grip.
"Hermione, hi-i-i," Mrs. Andrews drawled smoothly, shaking her head emphatically at Jughead as he twisted in his seat to look behind him. "This is Mary. What can I help you with?"
"Put FP back on," Mrs. Lodge demanded, sounding only angrier now. "I need to talk to him right now."
Mrs. Andrews shot Jughead a questioning look; he tried to fill her in quietly: "It's Dad's phone. We swapped and forgot to switch them back."
Mrs. Andrews nodded swiftly and motioned for Jughead to be quiet. "He's busy, but I'll have him call you back as soon as he can."
She clicked off of the call.
The phone vibrated angrily, but this time the pulsing was erratic and did not indicate a phone call.
Mrs. A watched the screen for a few seconds; she frowned, but then a smile gradually spread over her face. She held out the phone to Jughead. "Here. You have a lot of texts from a lot of people. Do not get back on the phone with Hermione Lodge, though. I'd only pick up for your father or Brandon right now."
"Yeah." Jughead made a face as he accepted the cellphone. Control the narrative, huh. Mrs. Lodge must want to talk to him because he was writing an article.
An article that was suddenly looking a whole lot more fraught.
And wow, that was a lot of texts. Brand was texting him not to pick up the phone. His father was texting him not to pick up the phone. Both of them promised to fill him in once they were face to face.
Archie was texting, too, and Veronica. Apparently word had gotten out that Jughead had FP's phone.
'I have nothing but respect for the fourth estate,' Archie had just sent, 'but…'
Oy.
Veronica's text looked more promising: 'So please, please write whatever you had planned before all of...'
The phone buzzed with more incoming texts, but Jughead had seen enough. Moreover, replying to anyone could push the texting from a deluge into a frenzy.
Jughead pocketed the phone firmly and resumed his careful scan of the streets they were navigating. He was still on the job – and this one did not involve writing.
They arrived back at the hotel within Brand's preferred timeframe. Sheriff Keller dropped them off out front and then pulled into the underground parking structure while they headed toward the elevators.
They got a lift to themselves, which was good; Jughead didn't feel like his nerves were up for trapping them in an elevator with a stranger.
"We might need to pay you more," Mrs. Andrews said warmly to Jughead once the elevator doors had closed behind them. "That – everything you did – was very impressive."
Jughead could hear the proper line in his head: something about it all being in a day's work, and no trouble at all. No sweat. Something like that.
He just smiled, though, and shrugged; Jughead would leave the cocky quips to Brand. Now that the adrenaline was leaving him and he was beginning to consider the writing job he'd need to complete before bed, Jughead felt exhausted.
"Here." Betty nudged his arm gently, and then pressed something into his hand. "I brought this for you."
"Oh, good!" Mrs. A exclaimed, overly enthusiastic.
Jughead held up the energy bar and mustered a grateful smile. "Oh. Wow, Betty. Thanks."
Something about the exchange made Alice laugh a little too hard.
Alice caught Jughead's eye with a wink and then she smirked and crossed her arms. "You don't need to coddle him, you two. This right here? It's his jam."
Both Betty and Mrs. Andrews gave Alice confused looks.
Thankfully the elevator doors opened before Alice had an opportunity to say anything more. Jughead could only imagine what her take was on all of this, and he was pretty sure Betty and Mrs. Andrews would not appreciate it.
"Kid." Brand was standing just outside the elevator. Sarah was down the hall, standing outside of Archie's room, and aside from her the space was empty. The one word, breathed like a sigh of relief, said everything.
It meant that Jughead's job was officially completed, successfully.
It was the smallest job of anyone that day, and it carried the least amount of risk. And now it was over.
Jughead smiled, basking when Brand gave him a proud smile in return and a nod. "Good work."
The lack of hair tousling seemed like a meaning-laden gesture, too.
"And, just so everyone knows, I'm getting backup before tomorrow's concert." Brand continued as the three moved out of the elevator and down the hallway. "Breaking Fast is going to cover the additional cost, Mary."
"Oh. That's really not a concern," Mrs. Andrews said quickly. "Though I do appreciate you protecting Archie's interests."
Brand smiled. "They offered. It wasn't exactly a crack negotiation on my part."
Ah. Jughead stood corrected. Now it was over; they would not be doing this all over again – and again, and again – for the duration of the tour.
"Go catch up with the band. They're in there," Brand pointed toward Archie's room, "and they want some post-concert photos if the warrior queen's up for that."
Betty perked up. "Yeah. Absolutely. That is a great idea, especially-,"
Brand shooed her along, and Alice gave Jughead a quick 'somebody's-in-trouble' look behind Brand's back before she hurried to catch up with Betty. Agent Sarah followed the three into the hotel room, closing the door behind them.
Jughead shook his head, amused by Alice's reaction to the whole situation. While Betty had been tense and watched Jughead like a hawk throughout, Alice had relaxed into the whole thing – in ways Jughead had not seen her do since they'd met in Toronto.
"Well, Jon," Brand said once they were alone in the hallway. "It looks like we just might make a professional out of you yet."
00000
"So why can't we sit down with him tonight?" Morgan demanded. "We're still up. He probably is too. And we have to-,"
"My guess is he's passed out in his bed by now. You saw how young he is," Paul disagreed. "And he had a bad scare this morning."
"Yesterday morning," Ryan corrected, pointing at a clock.
"But what's to say tonight won't bring something even worse?" Morgan said hotly. "We need to get ahead of this."
"The kid is going to keep in touch with me. I'll personally keep an eye on him," Dax said soothingly. "I think you may be right, Morgan, and there may be worse to come. I think it's also clear that he's our guy when it comes to the haunting. Now we just need to be ready. Especially if you're really going to add some midday concerts to the tour and capitalize on the buzz."
Paul frowned, confused. "I think adding more concerts makes sense. But what do we need to be ready to do?"
Morgan gestured at Paul and groaned in frustration, but then she stopped. Morgan smiled sheepishly. "Actually, you're right. I guess we haven't really made an actual plan. We got as far as 'figure out who it is, keep a close eye on him,' and then-,"
"We might need to consider ending the tour early." Dax offered. He raised his hands apologetically when the entire band stared at him in shock.
"What?" Paul was incredulous. "After getting the green light to add concerts? After making it through how many tours with this sort of thing happening? I don't think so. We've finally got a plan; we finally have a bead on where things are likely to strike. And you think now is the time to-,"
"The coverage is apparently good enough to - possibly - fill a few more venues. But that kind of coverage can do other things for you, too, you know. Rather than take risks by keeping the tour going, it might be worth it to quit while you're ahead," Dax said evenly. "You've gotten a lot of great publicity so far, but that can change on a dime if anything bad happens. The media loves a fall from grace. And you've said it yourselves: things seem to be escalating."
"No. One member of the tour seeing a special effect revealed to him as a real gun and sparking a minor panic is not an 'escalation.' That is exactly in keeping with the kinds of thing that we've had happen on other tours. We can do this," Morgan said firmly, shaking her head. "Besides, this is the best position we've been in on a tour for managing the hauntings. This is going to be our test case. It will create a template for every future tour."
"Identify the target, keep them close, keep it contained," Paul agreed. "It's a good plan. It's a whole lot easier than trying to locate or contain anything supernatural, and it should be just as effective."
"Okay." Dax shrugged agreeably. "We certainly don't need to make any decisions about tour dates tonight. But I'd like you to think about what would convince you to end the tour early. Having a clear line in your minds will help you make sure you don't cross it, one small step at a time."
"Like a slowly boiled pot?" Morgan asked, and her tone was sarcastic. "We might not notice the tour falling apart because it's so danged gradual?"
"You'd be surprised what the mind can persuade you of under pressure," Dax said kindly. "So just think it over. What if an audience member got hurt?"
"Well, that depends. What were they doing at the time?" Ryan laughed.
"What if one got killed?" Dax followed up, his tone harder.
Now the band looked spooked.
Dax grimaced sympathetically. "That's the kind of thing that I want you to consider. Let me know in the morning: what are your limits, and what would it take to call off the rest of the tour?"
The band was left in heavy, thoughtful silence as Dax slipped out.
"Okay. We should each come up with our own thoughts about this and write 'em down," Paul finally suggested. "We'll put our heads together tomorrow at breakfast and compare notes. Then we'll give Dax our parameters, and we'll just hope it doesn't come to that. What about adding concerts? Thoughts?"
"He's right that we have good publicity." Morgan spoke slowly. "I was honestly already starting to plan what we could do with a few more sold-out venues."
"Doubling up for a few days sounds great to me," Joey spoke up for the first time. "I'm down. Let's do it. Then if we have to end the tour early, it's possible we'll still have revenue from the same number of tickets."
"It also seems like we're at a point where people are lying about having tickets. Everyone wants to be at our show." Morgan shrugged self-deprecatingly. "I looked into it after Archie joined the tour, since our insurance numbers came up wonky. I'm still not sure what the deal is, and it's probably all about the opening band, considering the timing, but it's sounding like a lot more people claim to have tickets than actually do."
"Weird." Paul made a face. "But it does sound like an obvious market for a few more shows. And it wouldn't make the tour any longer, so I don't think it meaningfully increases our potential for problems. Let's go for it."
"Dax might not like it. It'll make it harder on him if we have more concerts," Ryan said with a sly grin. "I think he wants to go home early."
"He'll live. Besides, all the security have it in their contracts: specific increases if we add shows, and they're fully committed as long as we don't add new dates." Paul shook his head. "Dax will understand. He's a businessman."
"So is Mary," Morgan added. "Sort of; you know what I mean. Anyway, we should talk to her before we add concerts."
"The band's contract is basically the same," Paul said. "So we don't have to ask permission. But I agree; a conversation would be polite. A courtesy. Mary might have some ideas, too, for how we can manage the media coverage."
"You still think she knows who the embedded journalist is?" Dave asked, smirking.
"I am entirely convinced that Mary Andrews knows everything," Paul said with a grin. "And even if she doesn't, chances are that if I put something into the water with her, our embedded journalist will catch wind of it."
Satisfied, the band began preparing to bunk down for the night.
00000
Jughead was not completely surprised when FP showed up at their hotel room an hour later. They needed to swap phones back, for one thing.
It also seemed like everyone wanted to weigh in on the article – a third, brand-new one, at this point – that he needed to somehow finish and send before he keeled over for the night.
Jughead scrubbed at his eyes as his father pushed past Brand and into the hotel room.
Brand had promised that he could sleep in the car on the way to the next venue, so at least there was that.
"Don't write about me," FP said without preamble as he moved through the hotel room behind Jughead. He was looking around as if he expected to find something, but it appeared that he did not see whatever it was.
With a sigh, FP rubbed his hands over his thighs and then sat down heavily on Brand's bed. Or maybe it was Jughead's bed.
Someone's bed.
Brand had said something about swapping beds, or swapping beds back, but he had then started weighing aloud the pros and cons of each sleeping arrangement until it had morphed into a rant – and at that point, Jughead had lost track of whether Brand would be sleeping in the doorway or if he'd be forcing Jughead to do that to learn a lesson, or if one (both?) of them would be consigned to sleeping in the bathtub. To teach them both a lesson, Jughead presumed, though Brand had muttered whatever justification he'd had when he'd reached that particularly incomprehensible part of his monologue.
Jughead would have been worried that Brand was losing it, only he kind of felt the same way. His own thoughts were spinning, and even the smallest opportunities to exercise control seemed out of reach – or maybe it felt like even the most innocuous choices in the world might be somehow dangerous, might bite him somehow, just because he had dared to make a decision.
"Don't write about yourself either," FP added belatedly, and without looking up Jughead could hear that Brand was not the only member of the wolf pack who was worked up and primed to rant.
"You need to let me focus. Otherwise I'm gonna have to put on my noise-canceling headphones, and you won't have any say at all," Jughead warned. He didn't turn around to look at his dad, but he pointed threateningly over his shoulder for emphasis.
"You need to listen to us on this. It is not something to joke about," FP retorted.
Sometimes Jughead really hated that his dad was the Serpent King and the type of person who could take things as a joke instead of a signal that he should back off.
FP was notoriously difficult to manage, though, and his current mood suggested that he was probably about to derail the writing that Jughead very much needed to complete in a timely manner.
And long experience had taught Jughead that there was precious little that he could do about it.
"Cool it, FP," Brand said, returning from the doorway and likewise settling on one of the beds behind Jughead. "I've interrupted him enough. We can talk after he's got a rough draft."
A 'rough draft'? Oh, hell no.
"Uh, that is not happeni-,"
"I'm your security too," Brand snapped irritably. "I will be looking it over to make sure you didn't say anything that might give away your identity or location. Not to mention anything else that we don't want leaked about the band or our setup on tour."
That almost sounded reasonable… except that Jughead knew better.
"No. I don't say anything about logistics, and leaving myself out completely would be conspicuous." Jughead ignored the frustration that was almost palpably rolling off of the rest of the wolf pack. "I might as well not call myself a journalist if I'm going to pretend that's not part of the story. I don't mention Dad by name, but the same is true about him – the encore is trending. You both have to trust me."
The silence that followed felt skeptical at best.
"A-and you will both read the article tomorrow… along with everyone else."
Jughead kept his eyes on his screen as he waited, and he was gratified when neither man responded.
Only then, as he resumed typing, he realized they were probably just communicating a silent plan between the two of them. Well, tough; as soon as Jughead finished writing the article, he was going to hit Send and then it would be beyond anyone's reach.
The silence mercifully continued as Jughead got back into his writing groove.
He lost track of time as he typed and revised and finally – at long last – found himself tapping his fingers in an upbeat rhythm on the hotel's cheap table as he reread the conclusion one last time.
It was ready. It was good. It was about the band – not just about Veronica, but with a nice lead-in about Veronica's newfound viral status – and it was heavy on quotes from Archie. In fact, Jughead thought that it felt like getting a backstage pass to shadow Archie and feed off of his specific charm and enthusiasm. Readers got to see the music, the concert, and the band members through the lead singer's eyes, and Archie created an optimistic and flattering portrait.
It made for a strong first article in the series, and a fitting tribute to Archie, the central figure and songwriter who had a knack and a passion for featuring his friends and bandmates where they shone brightest.
Jughead was almost distracted enough by his pride in the job well done to give away that he was finished – but thankfully he remembered in time that the rest of the wolf pack were poised to hack up his writing. He moved the cursor and attached the file to an E-mail, and then–
Oh no. Something was wrong.
Jughead whipped around to face the two men who had gotten comfortable while they'd waited. FP was scrolling through something on Jughead's phone while Brand was reading over his shoulder.
"What did you do?" Jughead demanded. "And you had better not be reading my private messages." He couldn't quite bring himself to say 'to Betty,' but the thought was enough to make him see red as the two men pored over his phone. "Seriously. As if I don't have massive invasions of my privacy already. This is messed up."
"The wifi is off. Temporarily." FP sounded dangerously quiet. "Until we get a look at that article. And until you tell us exactly what happened."
Huh? Jughead tried to replay every conversation that he and Betty had recently had about anything that could possibly make the rest of the wolf pack think that something bad – something risky, or even just worrisome to the adults – had happened between him and Betty.
"Um. Want to narrow that down a little?"
"Wow. You must have quite the guilty conscience. How many possibilities are there?" Brand looked aggrieved. And worried.
"Don't turn this into a fact-finding mission, Brandon. I don't want to know anything other than why Gladys is texting that she 'hopes you don't believe Richard threw you down a staircase on purpose.'" FP's voice was still frighteningly level.
"Uh…" Oh. Okay, that sounded bad. And Jughead was way too tired for this. He groped for any possible response.
The adults staring at him with increasing impatience was not helping.
Jughead decided to attempt one of his father's Serpent King maneuvers and go on the offense: "Maybe because you've had my phone, so I haven't texted back in a while?"
"Wrong answer." Brand was up and looming over Jughead in an instant.
And to his dying breath, Jughead was going to kick himself – because he flinched.
Brand went stock still. He looked like he'd been slapped.
"Hey! Don't you ever play games like that with us, boy," FP said, his voice raised angrily: "Apologize."
"I don't think he's faking, FP." Brand took a step backward, but his knees hit the bed. Brand swiped back at it viciously with one arm – as if he'd like to do serious damage to something. Anything.
"Are you so sure, Brandon?" FP wasn't asking a question; he was making an accusation, his tone dripping with venom. "Because he's become quite the actor. He once faked a panic attack and made himself pass out when he didn't like the questions I was asking him."
Huh. That was true. It was also approximately fifteen percent of that story.
"That's not fair. That was only because-," Jughead managed before he had to wheeze for air.
"You have a history," FP cut Jughead off with finality. "I'm not saying you're intentionally going for a repeat performance, but you've got a bad habit-,"
This was not good. Jughead was being forced to either admit to being scared – weak – or to lying and faking a fear response. His chest tightened still further as he considered the likely repercussions of admitting to either one: he'd be firmly back at the bottom of the food chain in the wolf pack.
Wait a second. Jughead saw one possible way out of this particular hole.
Gasping in as deep a breath as he could manage, he made his gambit: "No. It's… our cover."
The adults exchanged confused looks.
"I'm not good at-," Jughead sucked more air into his lungs even though it felt like that was doing nothing meaningful, "-going in and out of character."
That still was apparently not enough to explain everything. Jughead felt lightheaded but continued.
"So I… you know, it's hard to turn it off."
It would explain the flinch. It might get him off the hook for the sarcastic response.
Jughead was officially using the 'evil twin' excuse, and it just might work.
Both Brand and FP looked thunderstruck for a moment. It looked like both were reviewing the exchange mentally.
Then Brand laughed.
FP sighed unhappily, but he looked somewhat relieved as well.
Jughead got another breath in – finally, one that seemed to get where it needed to go.
"I should have known. You still have to explain about this Richard thing, though, so let's hear it. And then we're reading that article before it goes out." Brand's laugh subsided into a smirk.
That was probably as good an offer as Jughead was going to get, under the circumstances. Things were calming down, and there was no way on earth they were going to let him off without explaining his mother's texts.
Deescelation accomplished.
FP and Brand were now exchanging meaning-laden looks that probably signaled they had another plan up their sleeves, but that was par for the course; at least they weren't angry any longer.
Jughead took another deep breath and prepared himself to explain.
Only before he could begin, Brand reached over and grabbed Jughead by the shoulder. He spun him around disorientingly and then pushed him down to sit on the bed beside his father. Hard. "What did I just say? Talk. Now."
So much for calming down.
The flurry of motion as FP forced himself between Jughead and Brand was almost as startling, and Jughead scrambled backward onto the bed to put distance between himself and whatever happened next.
"No marks, Davies. You clear on that?"
Jughead blinked up at the two men, fighting down a panic that he knew was misplaced. Nobody in this room was going to hurt him, even if they lost their tempers. He knew that.
Apparently Jughead still needed to convince his body of that.
FP was in Brand's face, but he didn't entirely seem angry. He seemed… darkly amused. Completely ready for violence, sure, but not exactly upset about the prospect.
Brand's smirk didn't falter, but his eyes went cold. "Get out of my face. I will handle the kid as I see fit. Besides, do you see any marks on him?"
Uh. Wait a second. This was getting out of control. Everyone was under way too much stress, and Jughead's complete assurance that neither man would hurt him did not extend to either one of them hurting the other. In fact, Brand's injuries were a dangerous wild card; in a fight he might do serious damage to FP since he could not be assured of winning otherwise.
"No – wait –," Jughead held out both hands as if that was going to stop either man. "It was only an accident. I tripped and fell down some stairs, and Richard was just… standing there at the time."
Jughead winced when both Brand and FP gave him unimpressed looks.
"You fell down some stairs," FP repeated sarcastically.
"Of course you did," Brand added just as doubtfully.
"I did. You saw what Mom texted. That's what happened. And, uh, this isn't news. The doctor even said that was why my thyroid was so messed up," Jughead tried to project confidence, even though his voice was shaking – and he was fairly sure this was news to both men. "Dad must have missed it. There was a lot going on at the time. Mom was probably trying to make sure I didn't somehow, you know, decide that I thought Richard pushed me."
"Somehow." FP repeated, his eyebrows raised.
"Are you buying anything he's selling?" Brand asked FP darkly. "Or do you think he needs a time out to think things through before we try and have this conversation a second time?"
Wait. What?
"I think that at this point we can't trust him without some assurances. You want to handle your team the way you see fit? Be my guest." FP shrugged, his expression stony. "I'm out."
His dad was out? Jughead took one look at Brand's expression and scrambled backward until he hit the wall – but there was no way to get out of striking range in the small hotel room.
"Hand me my bag, will you, Penn?" Brand motioned toward a small, unassuming backpack that was resting on Brand's duffel bag.
God only knew what was inside of it. Jughead felt his heart pounding; his back was literally against the wall and he knew he didn't have the ability to meaningfully resist whatever Brand was about to do to him. His panic seemed to have bled his body of strength.
Only… Penn? Jughead registered the name with a shock as he realized what was going on.
"Oh. my. God. Is this the game you were talking about, Brand?" Jughead gaped at the two men, his heartbeat still pounding in his ears. "Because that was not an invitation for everyone to start larping."
"Aaaand, scene," Brand said sarcastically. "Oh yeah, we know. But, more to the point, so do you. Apparently you can tell the difference between your cover story and your real life."
Brand was pointing at Jughead accusingly.
"What? What on earth are you talking about?" Jughead demanded hotly, sputtering the words as anger flooded through him even faster than his relief that the wolf pack had not just snapped under pressure and turned on him. "That was– I mean, you can't just-,"
"Do we need an official transition phrase?" Brand was speaking slowly, as if he believed that Jughead was an idiot.
"Some sort of codeword to remind you that we periodically drop our cover to debrief and strategize?" FP supplied, folding his arms and giving Jughead a frustrated look.
"Or do you need me to come up with a more obvious transition signal…" Brand moved swiftly across the room and grabbed Jughead so he could put him into a hold and tousle his hair far beyond anything that was comfortable. "Something like that would be hard to stay in character through, eh?"
Jughead had been right about his odds in a fight: struggling against his godfather did approximately nothing.
Not knowing what else to do, Jughead moved his right leg forward so that it tapped Brand's injured knee in a not-so-veiled threat. "Let go of me, Brand."
"Going straight for severe injury. I like it," Brand said calmly, without even loosening his hold. "But you're going to need to do some weight training before you can make that credible."
"Let him go, Davies," FP said, but his tone was relaxed; he wasn't upset.
Although, troublingly, FP was moving toward Brand with purpose.
Jughead wasn't sure why he was so shocked when he was lifted off of his feet again – and then dumped onto the other bed, out of the way, while his dad and Brand began scuffling.
It made sense. It had been a day full of adrenaline, and both men had a lot of tension to work through.
It was probably only shocking because they were both grinning. That was a first.
Or maybe it wasn't shocking at all that Brand and FP were enjoying working out their aggression by sparring – and bonding over making Jughead's life miserable. That was also par for the course with them.
Instead, maybe it was a combination of exhaustion and whiplash that was making Jughead feel like he was going into shock.
Maybe it was everything. It was all just… too much.
Jughead had landed on the hotel bed in the fetal position, and at first he instinctively curled into himself. Now, however, he slowly stretched his body out on the bed and then turned onto his side so he was facing the wall and had his back to the rest of the wolf pack and their escalating fight.
Jughead forced himself to relax. To breathe slowly. There was no threat; his dad and Brand had merely been punking him to make a point; the article was finished and eventually the wolf pack would have to stop holding it hostage; the first day of the tour was done – and it had been a success – even though it had been more complicated than anyone could possibly have predicted.
Things would have to get easier; they couldn't possibly get messier.
And there was an unexpected bonus: somewhere along the way, Jughead's brain had gone completely numb.
It actually felt a whole lot like the aftermath of the high-pressure live interview in New York. Maybe the effect was a little stronger this time; he could not be sure.
Jughead remembered what had worked, though, and he figured it would work once again: he would simply stare at the blank wall until his brain started functioning again.
"Hey, watch the shoulder," Brand was objecting, laughter still in his voice. "Left hand. Left hand. Your other left. There; you've got it. Now, here's the counter-,"
There was a grunt and then a heavy thump onto the other bed.
Jughead did not have the energy to even turn his head, but it didn't matter; he could tell that Brand had talked FP through a hold and then somehow thrown FP down onto the bed.
"Don't talk me into a trap," FP complained. "I'm supposed to be learning something here."
"Well, what did you learn?" Brand sounded amused, but also expectant. Jughead knew that tone; his dad was expected to be using the counter right now, against Brand.
"Ha." FP grunted again and there was another heavy thump – this time on the floor. "Okay, I guess that does work."
"See?" Brand's voice was strained but proud. "Now get your weight off my shoulder. I mean it."
Jughead felt himself smile, even as he continued staring at the wall.
It was a relief when the adults were done sparring, held a whispered consultation over his limp body, and then decided to leave him alone. Instead, they turned their attention to his computer.
Jughead heard them arguing about a semicolon for far too long – one that was completely grammatical, darn it – and was further relieved when they eventually agreed to turn the wifi back on and finish sending the E-mail with the article attached and unaltered.
"I'm glad he's getting some shut eye," Brand said in a low voice as FP finally made a move to leave their room and head to his own. "He talks a good game, and he's certainly pulling his weight, but he's still got a lot to learn. Being rested can only help."
There was a long silence.
"Just don't push him too much." FP let out a long, slow breath. "He seems better. I don't think we'll have as much trouble getting him to debrief when we're alone-,"
Brand snorted in what sounded like emphatic agreement.
"-but we were a little hard on him."
Jughead wished he had enough energy to feel anything; he probably would have enjoyed hearing that under different circumstances.
"It was necessary. This is important." Brand sounded dismissive enough that Jughead figured his godfather was not as sure of himself on that point as he wanted to be. "And I know you're worried that you don't have perspective, because it's Gladys, but that's not the point. He's been holding out on us. He can't keep doing that or someone's going to get hurt."
FP grunted, which meant he didn't agree but didn't want to explicitly disagree.
Jughead felt exactly the same way. He didn't want Brand to be right, but he could not say for sure that Brand was wrong.
Most troublingly, Jughead was becoming less sure all the time that he could handle navigating all of this uncertainty.
And one part he knew to be true: if he turned out to be the weakest link of the wolf pack, someone could get very hurt.
"The Betty thing, though." Brand let out a low whistle as if he was absorbing the situation all over again. "That was some text. I hate that she's tied into all of this."
Yeah. That made two of them, Jughead thought bleakly. And apparently both FP and Brand had seen at least one text from Betty. Joy.
"I never thought my boy would get so lucky, but I'm sure glad he did," FP said fervently. "I'm glad he's stepping up to the plate for her."
Brand made a noise of agreement.
Jughead frowned, wondering if his dad actually meant that he approved of Jughead sending the list to the authorities in Betty's place.
Or maybe he meant Jughead's role as part of the security team earlier that evening, at the venue.
"Although," FP continued, "it would be nice if he learned that the choice doesn't have to be between one teenager and another."
"No kidding. But if being personally acquainted with a whole slew of FBI agents hasn't clued him in that there are adults around who can help him handle problems…" Brand trailed off with a stifled laugh. "But every day he stays alive is a chance for him to grow up a little more."
"Uh-huh." FP was probably rolling his eyes. "Goodnight, Brandon."
"Goodnight, lefty."
There was a silence and then Brand laughed – no doubt at a creatively rude gesture from FP.
Jughead smiled as the door closed and Brand started getting ready for bed.
Eventually the light clicked off and the other bed creaked when Brand settled in for the night.
"You catch all of that, kid?"
Jughead's smile widened. "More or less."
"So you're not actually catatonic over there?" Brand sounded relieved. Jughead felt a pang of guilt over that. "You had us worried, killer."
"Not quite catatonic. I just needed a break," Jughead said honestly. "I felt a lot like I did after the interview in New York."
"Ah yes, Traininggate."
Jughead snorted. "Yeah."
They were silent for a few long seconds.
"Is Dad getting better at defending himself?" Jughead asked.
Brand laughed. "Well, it would help if he knew his right from his left."
"Brand, in the middle of sparring it's not exactly-,"
"I know, kid." Brand was silent for a few moments. "Yeah, he's going to be okay. He can take care of himself, at any rate."
"The choice doesn't have to be between one teenager and his dad, huh?" Jughead said wryly.
There was a long pause.
"Look, I'm not telling you this to make you feel better, or even to keep you from running into danger for him. I know that's a fool's errand." Brand chuckled again, albeit this time his tone had an edge. "But I respect the threat. And your dad is becoming a threat."
Jughead smiled to himself again. "Good."
"Yeah. It is." Brand turned over and sighed heavily. "Now get some sleep. You need to get yourself back to being a threat, and resting up is the first step."
"Agreed." Jughead found that his mind had cleared. He was relaxing, and maybe even dozing, but then something else occurred to him. "Is Dad mad at Mom because of Agent Sarah?"
There was a long silence. Brand definitely wasn't asleep, but it was not a good sign that he had to think this hard about an answer to a relatively simple question.
"Kid…" Brand rolled over again, this time so he was facing Jughead in the dark room. His voice was hard. "According to that text message, your mother thinks you have reason to believe that Richard hospitalized you."
Well, when Brand put it that way, it sounded downright foolish to bother looking for any other reason why FP might be mad at his mother. It also sounded a whole lot like Brand might fight FP for the pleasure of taking Richard out, if not Gladys.
And yet.
"So that's completely not a factor?" Jughead made a face and tried again to ask what he was trying to figure out. "Is Dad mad at Agent Sarah?"
"He told you he wasn't," Brand said carefully.
"He also told you not to leave any marks on me," Jughead shot back. "He's said a lot of stuff lately."
Brand made a frustrated noise. "If you are still unclear on what's part of our cover and what's reality, then I really can't help you."
Jughead glared into the darkness. "It's just… weird. I don't know how Dad's going to respond to my relationship with either of them."
"He already told you that. It's your relationship to figure out, not his; you don't have to worry about him." Brand sounded impatient now. He was probably eager to go to sleep. "That goes for both of them."
As if it were that simple. Ever. For anything.
"But he's mad at Mom for something that has to do with me." That made FP a hypocrite, Jughead thought but did not say.
"I don't think you're getting the picture: Richard plus hospitalization equals murder. You're lucky FP's only mad." Yep, Brand was officially done with this conversation.
Well, too bad. Jughead was not.
"Then shouldn't I get to make my own decisions about how I feel about whatever they did to Dad?"
"No. It's not the same. You're not his parent and neither of them allegedly–," it was like Brand could read his mind, "-put FP into the hospital."
"But-," Jughead stopped himself from making the obvious retort about Gladys putting Brand into the hospital.
It wasn't the same. That had been an accident.
It had to have been.
Besides, Jughead didn't need a long conversation about whether he felt unsafe with his own mother, and whether he doubted her word or her intentions.
"But what?" Brand sounded curious.
"Nothing."
"Fine." Brand rolled over one last time. "Now go to sleep before I have to drug you and that gets me into yet another fight with FP. Because, I'm just gonna say this: even though he's getting better and I'm injured, I don't think that's enough of an advantage to keep me off of your list of people who put FP into the hospital."
Jughead sighed at his godfather's bizarre attempt at humor, and then he let the subject drop.
Brand's breathing evened out. Jughead felt himself start to slip into sleep himself.
Only then, with a start, Jughead remembered that he'd completely forgotten to text Dax.
Oh well. He'd text the man first thing in the morning.
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I hope you enjoyed! I am hard at work on the next chapter and enjoying seeing all of the forces come to bear on this poor tour. :) Thank you for reading - and thank you in advance for any and all notes! They always make my day. :)
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