I am late for a very important date!

Sorry for the delay - I made the rookie mistake of prioritizing real life over writing. This just in: real life will take all your time and basically act like a bottomless pit. Prioritize the writing and assume that survival will work itself out. Lesson learned. (readers, don't actually try that at home! :-D )

Natureliesbeneath, thank you so much for your faithful reviews - it was such an encouragement and a helpful other view on the chapter, and I love the visual of Jughead committing 300%. You give a nice collective summary of what he's up against at the moment, too, which is definitely coming to a head. But my favorite insight was your congrats to Brand. :-D He really is growing more and more into that godfather/parent role, and it is fun to see each step he stumbles his way through. And, um, yes. Nothing good can come of Jughead plus coffee, I completely agree. I hope you like this chapter and it is worth the wait!

Woodscolt215, thank you for your note! I was sad to see my internal deadline for posting pass, but your note was a lovely reminder that it is always better late than never. I hope it proves to be worth the wait, and I'm also looking forward to seeing FP and Brand navigate that new dynamic too...

Enjoy!

-Button

00000

Archie was not receiving the answer he wanted.

"Well, then-,"

"Archie, we are nearly done. The roadies just walked off of the tour. This is not the time."

Eyeing his mother, Archie weighed his options.

He'd normally try his dad next, but that had already proven to be a dead end.

FP and Brand had frog marched him out of the hotel room where they were plotting world domination once they'd realized Archie was not reporting a new crisis that fell inside the scope of their job descriptions.

That left… somebody. Probably.

Well, there had to be a way. Archie just needed to clear his head and figure this out.

He needed a run.

"I'm going out," Archie said firmly, putting an end to the conversation.

"No-o, you are not leaving the hotel," Archie's mother stared at him as though he'd said something insane.

Archie gave her what he hoped was a no-nonsense look.

"Archie, you've already had a close call going out in public during this tour. An insurance representative is standing in this hotel assessing risk as we speak. You know you can't-."

"I didn't mean I'd go without a disguise," Archie retorted. "I'm not an idiot, and I wouldn't endanger my fans like that. Besides, it's oh-dark-hundred, so nobody's up yet. I can just take Brand with me, and-,"

"No." Archie's mother crossed her arms.

Archie stood up and turned away from her to leave. "I'm sorry, but that is my final decision."

"Your what?"

Archie didn't look back in response to his mother's shrill, disbelieving tone. He moved toward the door and adopted a formal tone: "I'll check in with you regarding updates from the insurance rep when I get back."

"Archie Andrews," Mary sputtered, "you come back here right now and-,"

Archie let the door fall shut behind him. He shook his head once, hard, as if to shake off the feeling gurgling up inside him of icy anger.

How dare his manager try to mother him. How could she pretend to know him, let alone understand all of the things that this tour meant to him? Besides–

"Come with me."

Archie whirled around, startled. Clark stood in the hallway, arms crossed.

"Where?" Archie asked, but he was already thinking through a new plan: he and Clark could go out running, and then he wouldn't have to talk to Brand either. That guy was a whole new level of irritating now that so much had gone wrong on the tour.

"To the gym. The hotel gym, downstairs." Clark was giving Archie a look that said he fully anticipated Archie's counteroffer and was completely ready to shut him down.

Archie let his shoulders slump, but he did not protest further. "Fine."

"Get Keller. He needs to blow off some steam. If Gunnar would run, I'd say get him too." Clark made a face.

And he was not wrong; Gunnar was starting to get nervous in the wake of all the tour incidents. But the mental image of him running on a treadmill was enough to make Archie smirk.

And get an idea.

"What about Jughead?" Archie made his voice innocent. "He took up running this year, and he's been under a lot of stress-,"

Clark's wide-eyed expression shut Archie up. "Are you serious? Jones can barely walk."

Archie blinked at Clark. Huh. Maybe the answer to all of his questions was right in front of him. He decided to keep on playing dumb: "What do you mean? He was working backstage last night."

"What I mean is… he can barely walk." Clark looked at Archie as if he were checking for brain damage. "Weren't you at the climbing gym yesterday? And haven't you spoken with your father lately?"

Yes, Archie had spoken with Fred, as a matter of fact. It had been frustrating; they'd talked about basically anything other than Jughead, the tour, or Fred's injuries.

There were not many rooms in existence large enough to hold so many elephants.

And apparently – if Clark was to be believed – Archie's dad knew something about Jughead's current condition that Archie did not. That was very curious.

"Why? What's that got to do with-,"

"Jughead's a whole lot worse off than your dad is, both physically and mentally. Tall Boy did a number on him even before involving your father and nearly shooting them both in the head."

Archie cocked his head to one side, questioningly. He knew the facts, but he was surprised to hear that Clark was in the 'nobody was getting out alive' camp of theories about the hostage-taking. It had seemed to Archie like a needlessly pessimistic reading of what had transpired, and–

"Archie, he was taken apart piece by piece for no rational reason while he was being used as leverage. That means he didn't have any control - or even influence - over what was done to him." Clark made a pained face. "And then, after all that, he took a serious hit to the head yesterday. And don't forget that he's still recovering from surgery."

Well, duh.

But Archie restrained himself from rolling his eyes or giving any indication that all of that was precisely the reason for Archie's current quest.

Playing dumb had gotten him this far, so...

"Hasn't literally everyone been making sure that he's fine?" Archie tried to sound dismissive, even though he was afraid that his tense body language would give him away.

He hasn't seen Jughead since his best friend had been basically staggering around backstage, before the previous night's concert. Archie needed to know that Jughead was okay, and he would really prefer to hear it from Jughead himself so that he could be sure - see with his own eyes - that nobody was downplaying what was going on.

"Nobody can do this for him." Clark shook his head firmly, and Archie was annoyed to see pity in his expression. Almost as annoyed as he was that Clark thought he was so clueless about Jughead's mental state. Archie had a clue about that after months of living together, thank you very much; all Archie was trying to do now was find out whether or not Jughead was surviving this tour, and whether he was still in one piece.

"Look… You're not going to understand," Clark was suddenly speaking in a maddeningly condescending tone, "but take my word for it: Jughead's going to have to walk the whole way through this. You can make it easier or harder for him, but nobody can take this burden in his place."

Archie folded his arms and didn't say anything else; Clark was obviously bound and determined to view him as an idiot and to disagree with anything he said. Figuring out how to get him to spill pertinent medical details was the goal, and it did not require that Clark respect Archie or the teen's perspective on the subject.

"So. He can't go running at the moment, okay?" Clark turned away thoughtfully for a few moments, and then looked back at Archie. "But, you know, hold onto that thought. He just may need a running buddy once he's back on his feet."

Archie nodded slowly, making his eyes wide as he pretended that this was the first time anyone had ever told him that he needed to be patient with Jughead and the recovery process.

Ha.

"So... His head's still bothering him, then?" Archie tried not to wince when it didn't come out nearly as casually as he had hoped.

"He could barely walk," Clark repeated himself yet again, wrinkling his nose as he somehow managed to answer while giving Archie literally no new information whatsoever. It was almost like he'd absorbed some of that FBI training or something, Archie mused darkly. "Dax is keeping a close eye on him."

Dax?

That was unexpected… not to mention completely out-of-character. Archie instantly wondered if this was a lie. Perhaps it was even a cover-up for a covert hospitalization. His heart started to pound.

"Really?" Archie fought to keep his tone calm. "I mean... Why isn't Brand the one keeping an eye on him?"

"I don't know. Maybe because Brand's job is to keep an eye on you?" He drawled the words sarcastically, and then Clark gave Archie a 'come on, this is obvious' look paired with a small smirk. "All I know is that Jughead's working with the other team for the moment."

"But it's been... Well, it was all day yesterday, and then…" Archie's eyebrows knit as he added up the time Jughead had spent away from their portion of the tour. "How in the world is Brand cool with that?"

"Because Dax is a colleague, and a trained professional?" Clark asked, but this time the faint smile on his face didn't quite match the consternation tightening his eyes.

Jackpot. Archie officially had traction.

"Ah. So this is weird," Archie declared, pressing his advantage while Clark was off balance. "You think so too. Don't you?"

"Sure, it's weird." Clark shrugged one shoulder, but now Archie could see plainly that he was only feigning nonchalance. "But... I'm sure that's only from our perspective. We are not privy to everything that's going on, and I know that Special Agent Davies always has his reasons for whatever he does."

Yeah. Brand's 'reasons' were precisely what Archie was worried about.

Those 'reasons' could be literally anything.

"Where is Dax right now?" Archie asked, fighting to sound like this was a totally normal, completely casual thing to ask.

Clark's chin lowered and it was apparent that Archie had pushed his luck too far: the man's expression was both knowing and chiding.

Crap.

"Go get Keller. We'll run. Then we can talk more about this when you're in a better headspace." Clark smiled tightly. "Final offer."

Oka-ay. A run wasn't going to change Archie's analysis, no matter what Clark thought of teenagers and testosterone and the nigh-unto-supernatural properties of exercise.

But nothing had happened overnight, so it was probably not going to go south in the next hour.

"Deal. Then you tell me where Jug is, and everything you know about the situation with him, Dax, and Brand."

"I'll tell you what I can," Clark countered cagily.

Which was just so typical of the adults' party line on this tour that this time Archie did roll his eyes.

"Gee, thanks."

But he would take what he could get. And then he would keep right on digging until he found out what was really going on.

00000

"What… what are you…?" Dax trailed off in disbelief, scanning the hotel room from one side to the other. "Did you sleep at all?"

Jughead would not be able to testify in a court of law one way or the other. He looked up guiltily from his laptop, only then noticing the faint light of dawn coming through the curtained windows.

Oh man. It was going to be a rough day.

The good news was, Jughead's article was completed and submitted. He even felt proud of some of the turns of phrase he'd managed to work up by the end of his caffeine-fueled revisions.

A letter had also been written to Betty. Jughead needed to find a way to get that to his father so he could deliver it.

Jughead had also logged into the app and discovered even more chaos being stirred up by someone with the username TrueFactsMax.

Apparently Dax and Ben thought that was Jughead.

Well, he couldn't really improve on perfection… but he could stir the pot a little. Jughead had created a username and tried to mix things up further where he was able.

But man, wherever TrueFactsMax posted was completely lighting up; the anonymous user had a knack for inflammatory – and catchy – phrasing. Jughead looked around online for any information about the poster, and even though the entirety of his online presence seemed to have originated just weeks earlier, Jughead discovered that he had a significant following already.

Oh well. He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

So Jughead had begun work on his next article, framing it in terms of the impending conclusion of the tour and giving space for the band members to discuss what they hoped to do next.

Without interviews to use, that didn't take very long to structure and block out.

Then Jughead had started researching insurance regulations.

Then he researched hospital billing laws.

Then he had been completely derailed by labor law and the insurance and outs of unionizing, and how completely bizarre the current roadie strike was. There was some immediate coverage of it, primarily on blogs, that underscored all of the issues and linked to a variety of resources related to the topic.

Some of those resources were longtime fan sites devoted to Breaking Fast. That proves to be yet another rabbit hole, and - Jughead was suddenly realizing in the light of day - another few hours of clicking and reading.

Dax shook his head slowly. "You actually did. You pulled an all-nighter. With an acute head injury."

Jughead grimaced; Dax sounded disappointed and like he was gearing up to get angry. Very angry.

And no wonder. The tour was abysmally shorthanded because of the strike, and now Jughead had basically taken himself out at the knees by not sleeping.

He should be ashamed. And exhausted. Yet somehow, even now, sleep seemed far away. Jughead's left eye was pulsing, and his calves were cramping energetically under the small hotel desk.

"It was... I mean... yeah. I guess I did. Sorry. I just-," Jughead motioned to the coffeepot and shrugged apologetically. "It hit me hard. A lot harder than I realized, I guess."

Dax's expression darkened further... But then he seemed to catch himself, take a beat to shake off his annoyance, and his features relaxed.

Wow. That was kind of an impressive display of self mastery. Jughead eyed Dax curiously, waiting to see where the conversation was headed.

"Well. It's understandable. It has been a lot these past few days, and I didn't sleep much either. But that was an investment, and Ben and I got a lot figured out," Dax said, his voice rising slightly as he implied that their accomplishments were in contrast to Jughead's presumed counterproductive night. "That doesn't change the facts on the ground, though. You need to get some shut eye before you go anywhere."

Jughead protested reflexively and moved to stand, but a wave of dizziness swept over him before he was even out of the desk chair.

"Ye-eah. I think you're right." Jughead frowned at the clock. "I had no idea it was so late. Or... Early, I guess."

Dax seemed to have accepted the situation with a remarkably even temper after he got past the surprise. He smiled gently. "Let me get you another dose of painkillers. That'll help."

No doubt. Or it would eliminate Jughead's ability to reason his way out of a paper bag, and they'd have a new situation that was potentially even worse.

Jughead blinked at his own thoughts. He didn't actually think that the NSAIDs - or his head injury - was affecting his judgment that severely.

Did he?

Because if he did think that, he needed to get to Brand and FP. Right now. Before-

"Here you go. And I got you some breakfast sandwiches." Dax was setting a thick paper plate onto the table, and manipulating a pill bottle with his other hand. "You honestly look like you're in less pain, even after an all-nighter, so let's stick with what worked."

And... that was true. The headache was down to a dull roar, and the thought of relief was almost dizzyingly appealing.

Jughead also felt his stomach come to life with ravening hunger as he took in the array of meat-heavy breakfast sandwiches that Dax had assembled for him and brought upstairs from the hotel breakfast area.

Okay. He needed to think.

Dax had gotten him this far in one piece. More or less one piece, anyway, but that was Jughead's own stupid fault for ingesting large amounts of caffeine late at night.

Jughead studied Dax warily, but the man looked completely cool with whatever he decided; his body language was relaxed and he was still smiling.

Jughead nodded agreeably and took the pills with a swallow of water. "Thanks."

"You stay here. Eat, sleep, and then order room service. Whatever you think you can eat." Dax was eyeing him with concern. "Then you text me and I will get you up to speed for tonight. You'll miss the afternoon show, but that might give you a prayer of being useful at the evening one. We need more people there anyway."

It all made sense. Jughead nodded quickly, abashed at his own uselessness.

"I'll interface with Davies and make him see reason." Dax made a face. Yeah, Brand was probably going to freak.

But even as he thought that, Jughead felt the first wave of relief from the pills, and found he was more than willing to leave that conversation to Dax.

"Eat before you feel better and your body forces you to sleep. You look that tired," Dax observed. He seemed almost amused now, so Jughead hoped that meant he was forgiven and they were cool.

"Thanks. Yeah. That sounds good." Jughead took a big bite of sausage and English muffin. He spoke around it to add, "I will pull my weight tonight. Promise."

Dax raised both eyebrows and then guffawed appreciatively. "That's not much of a promise, with what you weigh. But I will take it."

Jughead grinned up at the man. Another wave of relief washed over him.

Thank heavens for Dax.

When the man left, promising to check in on Jughead soon, it felt like a miniature vacation.

Jughead could feel his body relaxing more and more as he ate the calorie-dense food. He moved to his bed, deciding to just relax and let sleep come whenever it happened.

And then there was a knock on the hotel room door.

Jughead suppressed a heavy sigh. The odds were extremely high that it was Brand, and that his godfather had marching orders for him.

Just the thought made Jughead want to hide. But he knew better; the knock came again, harder, and would soon turn to pounding. Or worse.

Jughead was unsteady on his feet as he walked across the room to the door. Man, he was exhausted. He fumbled with the lock before realizing that he just needed to turn the knob; Dax had no ability to lock the door any further from the outside.

His brain was working slowly. Everything was working slowly. Hopefully Brand would see his condition and make the same calculation that Dax had: Jughead needed a few hours off to rest. Sleep. Take a beat and wrap his head around everything that he had learned the day before.

Steeling himself for that conversation, Jughead opened the door.

"Come with me. Now."

A small handgun punctuated the command with a sharp jerk.

Jughead felt like every muscle in his body tensed at once, and he was suddenly more alert than he would have thought possible just a moment earlier.

Only then he noticed a few details. Wait a second-

"We're taking a little walk over to the venue. Stay quiet and you'll be just fine; I like you, and I don't want to hurt you. I only want what's mine, and you..." Kiara paused, pursing her lips in frustration, "...I guess you either didn't get my text, or you don't understand the concept of self preservation."

Jughead's mind flashed to the question of whose self preservation she meant: his or hers.

It was a moot point, though, so he didn't bother dwelling on it.

Instead, Jughead ducked his head once in acquiescence and, when Kiara motioned for him to walk ahead of her, he swiftly obeyed.

When his vision began to gray around the edges, Jughead could only pray that he'd make it all the way to the venue.

If he could make it there, he was pretty sure he would stand a fighting chance.

00000

Jughead controlled his breathing carefully, grateful for the sharp bite of the December cold as he walked ahead of Kiara.

She'd been so terrified during the shooting. It was bizarre seeing her wield that same power over anyone, let alone the person who had helped her then.

This was all wrong.

Jughead wondered if Kiara was really just motivated about money. While he had a hard time giving any credence at all to the story about Ben's kid being sick, Jughead found that he would have no trouble believing something similar about Kiara.

But whatever it was, it must be unraveling quickly. This plan had all the hallmarks of being hasty and desperate.

Jughead wondered if Kiara even knew what she wanted to trade Jughead for, and whether she realized that he wasn't exactly a valuable bargaining chip - this wouldn't be a fight for information or control. Nobody really cared who had access to Jughead as long as he wasn't talking to the cops, and as far as Dax and Ben were concerned, Kiara could hold Jughead hostage indefinitely and it wouldn't prevent them from cashing out and getting away.

It might even help them.

Kiara's only viable strategy, which might be a complete non-starter, would be playing with his life and hoping that Dax would trade control of the con for Jughead's survival.

Jughead tried not to think about the times he had been under the power of someone incompetent.

It was the easiest way in the world to end up dead.

An accident. A miscalculation.

A single moment of panic.

Sure, Jughead was still hiding his ace in the hole. He was trained and he could fight. But that only helped him if Kiara gave him a chance to do anything other than attempt to outrun a bullet.

Jughead was also fighting drooping eyelids. The NSAIDS were kicking his butt, and this time he didn't have a pot of coffee to combat their effects.

"Slow down. Just take it slow and easy," Kiara commanded harshly from behind Jughead.

His steps must have sped up again. They really needed to get there; he needed an opening, and he needed it before he succumbed to the full effects of the meds Dax had given him.

Jughead took another frigid, bracing breath. His vision cleared for a moment, but then it began to gray again.

He started to pray for Brand to come for him. That might soon be his only hope.

00000

Kiara paused as she followed the kid through a side door into the venue.

She had three possible ways of playing this, and it was time to decide which one she was willing to gamble on.

Dax would know precisely what kind of a powder keg he was sitting on if Kiara took the kid to the feds, who were conveniently crawling all over the venue. It would not merely be her word against his.

So there was that threat, but almost certainly no payout if Dax called her bluff and Kiara had to follow through. The kid would be extracted from the mess, which she had to admit was appealing - he was not only a good kid; he'd actually risked his own skin to help her before -, but Kiara herself would be left empty handed.

Ben was not an option. He would not listen to reason. Kiara would be forced to turn the gun on him to get anywhere, she was certain, and she might even have to use it.

The fact that it only shot blanks, and the cheap cap ones at that, would be a problem.

Kiara really didn't like it, but she probably needed to threaten Dax with a screwball idea: ransoming the kid to his mother.

Ransoming a son to the local SAC was suicide, of course, but it wasn't such an obviously dumb plan that Dax would immediately see through it.

Dax might give in; Kiara would get what she wanted, her full share of the take.

And who knows - if Dax did balk, maybe that idiot boyfriend would cough up some cash for the Wilson kid in order to earn points with the SAC. Penn looked like he teetered on the brink of outright abuse, and like he might even want to disappear the kid himself, so that might turn out to be a motivation for shelling out and getting his mitts on the inconvenient son of his girlfriend...

Kiara suppressed the shudder that thought inspired. She was committed now, and she couldn't take on personal responsibility for what someone else might do after she traded her one and only bargaining chip.

A bargaining chip that was starting to slump against the wall.

Kiara didn't say anything aloud, but she let loose a string of curses in her mind as she assessed the kid's condition.

Sure, her plan had hinged on Dax drugging him so he wouldn't have a chance at overpowering Kiara or identifying that the gun was a fake. But his current condition suddenly looked much worse than it had the previous night - and Kiara couldn't physically carry him if he passed out.

She'd have to get him alert and moving. And then maybe she'd stash him somewhere secure, for safekeeping.

Kiara tucked the gun away and stepped toward the Wilson kid. His eyes were closed and his expression was smoothing from pained to blank.

"Hey. Wake up." Kiara reached out to slap his cheeks lightly.

And suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, the kid had a death grip on her wrist and was twisting it almost to the breaking point.

Kiara had to bite back a shriek of fear and pain.

"Give me the gun and I won't hurt you." His voice was calm and assured, but there was a perceptible slur to his words.

Kiara stared wide-eyed into the kid's drug-blown pupils, realizing how very, very badly she had miscalculated.

And it was very bad. Her calculation had been dead wrong: Dax adding drugs to the mix had not been an advantage after all. Instead, it put Kiara in the incredibly dangerous situation of being at the mercy of someone who was on an unknown dose of mind-altering drugs.

Sucking desperately for air, Kiara jerked away painfully and tried to fight her way free.

The Wilson kid sighed slightly as he moved in response, and his expression was completely unconcerned.

Nothing happened other than Kiara could no longer even struggle meaningfully.

The kid had barely adjusted his stance - but he obviously knew what he was doing and his slight movements had changed the position from a viciously painful grip on her wrist to her being completely pinned.

And, giving Kiara a disappointed look, he disarmed her of the fake gun.

Easily.

Kiara half expected the Wilson kid to tsk as he did so, but instead he gave an annoyed huff and then shoved the fake gun into his own waistband.

Yeah, it wasn't real. He should be grateful.

He did not look grateful.

"You need to leave right now and never, ever come back." Drugged pupils stared at Kiara almost unseeingly and she cringed as her pulse ran faster and faster.

The effect was like something straight out of a horror movie and she knew that an accident of brain chemistry could make those unsettlingly black eyes turn violent. And it's not like she wouldn't have earned it.

"If I ever see you again, I will press charges for kidnapping."

The Wilson kid shoved her away from himself and spread his hands in both invitation - and threat.

Oh God.

Kiara didn't need to be told twice. The instant that she realized she had been released, she turned and sprinted out the exit.

She did not stop running.

00000

Jughead watched the door slam shut behind Kiara.

A fake gun. That made more sense. Somehow it gave him all the confidence he needed to make a plan for his next step.

Jughead was minutes - maybe even seconds - away from passing out. He didn't have a phone, and he'd be crumpled in a helpless heap on the floor... and he'd just have to hope that the first person to stumble across him didn't have any ill intentions.

That did not seem like a safe bet.

Jughead longed for Fred Andrews' soothing presence. He had found safety with him before, in similar circumstances, before he'd lost his ability to protect himself.

This time he was on his own, though, and he knew there was only one viable strategy.

Jughead looked around himself critically, assessing every detail he could see without expending precious energy.

He needed to find a hiding place where he would be safe for long enough to sleep this off.

It was a potent challenge, but Jughead felt the reassuring rush of adrenaline that often came when he recalled his training.

Jughead could do this. He was well trained, and this was a scenario he understood and could respond to, even on a very tight timeframe. Brand had seen to that.

Thank heavens for Brand, Jughead had enough time to think as he tucked his limbs firmly out of sight.

He had no further thoughts as he finally - blessedly - allowed the gray to win out over his vision and fade to black.

00000

One concert down.

One to go.

There were a few hours in between, and Archie wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and take a nap. Do a little songwriting. Feed his body and his creative spirit for a little while before they jumped right into another high energy performance.

He'd write it into his contract for the next tour, Archie decided, and he smirked at the idea of anyone going for that anytime soon. Re-creating this tour would be lucrative, no question, but it was getting perilously close to falling apart and everyone was just barely holding it together.

At least a large percentage of the roadies had miraculously crossed the picket line, such as it was, and the tour had a skeleton crew of people who actually knew what they were doing.

They were working hard, too, which was something Archie had not really paid any attention to when it wasn't happening - but the difference was stark now that each roadie was pulling his or her own weight with alacrity.

The strike had obviously been a step further, but Archie was now realizing that it was only a step further. Things had to have been tougher than he'd realized for FP, Clark, and the rest of the people who had been interfacing regularly with the road crew.

Chalk it up to experience; in the future, Archie would know the difference between a willing road crew and one on the brink of striking.

And right now Archie wondered if he needed to put that new insight to good use. He frowned as he observed FP talking in low tones to Brand. Both looked frustrated; both looked tired. Archie wasn't sure what constituted the 'breaking point' for either man, but he figured if they were anyone else he'd be safe in assuming that he was seeing them right at the edge of it.

They looked that rough.

It was also just worrying seeing them so deep in conversation with each other.

Those two could be frustrating as individuals, but there was nothing quite as maddening as when the two of them put their heads together.

It was maybe slightly mollifying to see that Brand apparently felt the same way, Archie thought. His head of security looked like a cat that had been drenched and then had its fur brushed the wrong way.

However, even with as much personal animosity as Archie could feel toward Brand, he had enough self-awareness to realize that he should not be gloating when his own head of security was freaking out.

Something was definitely up. It wasn't good, whatever it was.

And Archie still has not seen hide nor hair of his best friend, even though everyone else had shown up and worked through the afternoon concert.

Archie frowned, moving closer to Brand and FP. Maybe they knew something. Maybe something really was wrong with Jughead. That would certainly push both of them to act this way.

And, he had to face facts: not a whole lot else would.

00000

I hope you enjoyed! I hope to be prompter about the next chapter... yay goals! As always, your notes are so appreciated and a huge encouragement every step of the way.

I hope you are all doing very well and enjoying a wonderful start to October!

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