'The Incident' (Jane Version)

 [Alternate Text: A header image of a small, log-fueled fire contained in a pit. It has beautiful golden and orange flames that are perfect for roasting marshmallows. Two skewers are held just above the fire by people out of frame. The title 'The Incident' is in dour, typewriter style font off to the side.]

This J. Corvin POV is set on Halloween night after you recently left Fernweh.

"If Momma finds out, I'll never get to trick-or-treat again, Jay. Ever—never ever, so stay."

Alek's petulant protesting doesn't deter Jane from unchaining her bike from a rack, although she needlessly focuses more on its three digit combination. The chocolate bar he split with her is leaving a bitter aftertaste now. "Alek," she starts in a placating yet gentle tone her brother must recognize. He's already huffing, crossing his arms in a way that makes the fringe on his jacket shake. Their costumes are always made rather than bought, scavenged from around their house. Tonight, she isn't wearing one. "I'll come—"

"I know you'll come back," he interjects. "But you don't have to leave me in the first place."

She glances up just in time to spot him turn around and storm off in ill-fitting cowboy boots. Thick socks and padding helped him fill them out, unintentionally giving him an old timey swagger. Jane could easily catch up to him, promise to hit up another candy-giving neighborhood, and possibly apologize for being… her. Jane is aware she has been sullen, but it's hard to muster up much more than watchfulness over him. She's simply here.

The decorations aren't spooking her unlike how the pop-up ones often startle her, playing on a reflex that you know to look out for. You'd scan around to tell her where a wailing ghost may swoop down from or a hungry zombie would rise. Her particular taste in candy bars led to the two of you swapping while walking down sidewalks scattered with autumn leaves. They put too much stuff in them—nougat, nuts, caramel, pretzels. Splitting that one bar with Alek was only to make him smile; she lacks a sweet tooth or much of an appetite tonight. It was fun to venture out to town proper while you were a part of it. Now, the childish laughter, chilling sound effects, and soothing fall air feel all wrong. It doesn't seem like Halloween.

Jane could—should—go after Alek.

She doesn't.

He might be better off without her.

"I've got him."

Silas's voice disrupts her thoughts when he stops leaning against the nearby tree after collecting his trident. Jane finishes with the lock, nodding her thanks. She's about to mount her bike when those cobalt blue, plastic tines encase the front wheel. Silas observes her.

"Don't stay out there all night," he earnestly requests. "My mom would love to have you and Alek sleep over. There are so many rooms we need to renovate; you could help us come up with ideas… Besides, you can't do that to him."

Jane eases her fingers off the hand brake following his last sentence, nearly rolling forward until she catches herself. She knows that! She wouldn't disregard Alek all night; this is a break for him. "Thank you—it means a lot—but my parents wouldn't really go for that. Mom expects us back," she carefully replies, able to hide her frown through politeness. "I've got to bring him home. I don't want to worry them."

"Are you going to stay home tonight too?"

Jane says nothing long enough for Silas to peer behind her, lowering his trident to pursue Alek. Once she's assured they're together, she pushes off the curb, taking advantage of the empty roads thanks to all the children out. The sidewalks are lined with festive decorations and hauntingly creative displays. Jane hardly pays them any attention, building up speed as she blitzes down one road then the next until the Halloween music seeping into the night is secondary to her regimented breathing. She needs to see it—to check on it for you—because she has a bad feeling about this eerie night.

Her expression hardened earlier when passing by a house someone flung toilet paper on.

It was disrespectful.

Sometimes nearby laughter was laced through with screams or whimpers that sounded too real, probably a prank or a scare. She didn't like them either. Jane's own unhappiness about today might be coloring—darkening—things, yet she isn't going to take a chance on your family.

. . .

. .

.

Only one other horrible occasion has seen Jane almost wrecking her bicycle, the one she personally saved up for. The stray scratches leftover from sharp rocks in the ravine you broke your arm in can't be fully buffed out. She doesn't mind them. She'd do it again, able to get there before you started tearing up from the pain. She was upset then, potentially a little mad at Reese too, before hunkering by your side.

Now, it's only blinding anger.

The thud of her bike against burnt grass that still hasn't fully grown back doesn't register or how she painfully catches herself by letting go of the handle bars. There is fire where your house should be. It's contained, small even, but its warm light dances across the newly empty foundation that they cleared out for it to be less of an eyesore on the neighborhood. The concrete pad and leftover layout is something she mentally fills in as the shadows undulate all around it. Jane quickly scrambles to her feet.

She doesn't remove her helmet or check her smarting palms, marching over to this offense despite not truly feeling the ground underfoot.

It's shameful.

She hates it.

"…couldn't get with him…"

"I could damn well try! It'd be worth it."

"Look at you two failing the Bechdel test."

"Learn that in a 'special' tutoring session, Luci?"

Jane doesn't care what they're talking about as the scent of something sweet mingles with burning wood, except it's a touch muted. They have one of those easy-start logs instead of an actual fire built on tinder. Her observations are coming to a rapid end the more she notices—the bag of marshmallows, the fancy skewers, their costumes, the blanket. Is this a dumb party?!

"Leave."

That's all she says in a voice that won't carry over the crackling fire and their radio, but one of them spots her and 'ooh's' like an idiot. Her tone wasn't soft-spoken. It was strained. She balls her fists when a few of them laugh; it's a gathering of four. One would be too many.

"Want a s'more?"

"I doubt she'd say no…"

"I said: leave," Jane snaps. "You can't be doing that here." She gestures at your ruined home, a stiff motion that none of them bother to follow. "What's wrong with you? It's—it's like a grave. They died here. You can't—" She isn't going to reason with them, grabbing a nearby cup of something and tossing it on the flames, which only makes them roar to life. She rears back in alarm from the sudden heat. "God." A grim reaper simply chuckles at her reaction, while a guy dressed as a werewolf steps up, combative. Jane feels uncertainty from the masks all around, glaring equally at all of them.

They must know this is wrong.

They're hiding.

"You're a killjoy, just back off," the guy forcefully argues. He grabs a skewer from its resting place as if settling in to enjoy another treat, obviously at ease. "You don't even own this."

"I know the owner; he wouldn't want this."

"Lucian, maybe we should—?"

"No, he's got a point," another person chimes in after setting aside their alcoholic drink. They get up a bit unsteadily, advancing with the wolfman to prove a point. "You can't do shit."

Jane locks her jaw at the certainty behind those words when she is fully committed to preserving what she has left of you—protecting it. This is one of the few things that remains aside from your tree house. You're likely still getting settled in at your new home and coping with your parents' deaths, so she'll wait on your replies to her letters. "Please go, just leave it all alone," she stiffly requests. "This isn't right."

"Make me, or get lost like your friend did."

That's all it takes for Jane to lunge in a move that she wonders if it would scare you, but she's furious at their blatant disregard. She sloppily tackles Lucian around the middle, bringing them both down onto the concrete in a heap of limbs. There are two hands pushing back on her and then someone's kicking her side. The grim reaper's skull mask flashes across her vision when she and Lucian roll together to the right, grappling while a messenger of death watches on. That irritates her too. Jane tries to block the pain out from who's assisting Lucian because their kicks sometimes miss, striking her shoulder instead of her stomach or ribs. When she yanks off that wolf mask, she grabs a fistful of his hair too, ripping it away.

"What the fuck?!"

Jane tosses that onto the fire, settling back on her knees to attempt to stand because she sees the blaze reflected in Lucian's wide eyes.

She doesn't get very far when plastic snaps across her back, sharp and abrupt, from a scythe. It wasn't Death. The tipsy one drops their would-be weapon once Jane sets her sights on them, intending to pivot when she is abruptly brought down. Her skull would have bounced off the foundation if not for her bike helmet before the wolfman is pummeling her.

She's outnumbered.

There's no one to watch her back. You're gone, and that brings a warmth to her cheeks that surpasses the blood gushing from her nose. She can't let them see her cry—she won't! It'll cause problems. She swallows down her pain, physical and emotional, to get through this onslaught, focusing on her breathing pattern until—

"Luci, ease up."

"Nah, teach her a lesson!"

"Got anymore gin?"

Their quick conversation is disjointed at best to Jane whose thought process has turned extremely narrow, purely emotion that she has tried to bottle up and push aside to get through the days. High school is hell without you. She misses you so much. Your absence reminds her of things she doesn't want to think about because you're a part of her life, her best friend.

Lucian leans back to admire his brutal work. He starts to jokingly whistle, barely able to hold the tune when he's lashed across the face with his dropped skewer. It would've gashed him open, if not for its soft marshmallow end blunting the blow. Molten sugar still burns enough for him to clutch his cheek, wildly cursing as Jane shoves him aside. She manages to haul herself into a standing position, half-bent over from all of those kicks. Jane rounds on the group, livid.

"Get the hell out of here! LEAVE! Go away!!"

Each of her demands is punctuated by her slashing the skewer through the air at her right side rather than directing it at them. It could be a lasher, a deterrent. She wouldn't do that. Would she?

They lit a fire where your home burned down to roast stupid marshmallows.

When the drunk one tries to surge forward in retaliation, wannabe Death roughly grabs their shoulder, while the other one helps Lucian peel off the stuck-on treat. It'll leave a burn. It's nothing compared to what your parents tragically suffered. Jane doesn't feel the remorse she should in this moment, letting her emotions boil over and scald. Her body aches all over; it will become worse with time once the bruises fully bloom and the welts of swollen tissue rise up. She knows that, but she's fine at this present moment, willing to stand her ground to protect this place.

"She snapped." "Fuckin' crazy!" "Leave her."

They're backing up and away.

She did it.

They'll leave you alone—your home.

Jane's satisfactory conclusion is ruined by police sirens growing exponentially louder.

Red and blue clash with the few decorations along your former street, painting it in colors that aren't festive. Someone called the cops on them. Her eyes flick between where she stands alone, bloodied, but still only one person, versus this four-person friend group. Lucian is likewise beaten up, his right cheek inflamed and actually sporting a minor cut across its curve that could have been so much worse. His costume is also rumpled from their tussle. This won't end well.

"You're so fucked."

One of them smarmily says what she should be more concerned about through the haze of pain. Her parents are going to be disappointed, if not extremely upset. More importantly, her brother's Halloween is going to be ruined by her.

"Put the weapon down, girlie."

"She threatened us!"

"Separate from each other and remain quiet unless I tell you to do otherwise," the officer warns everyone. "Toss that aside now."

Jane robotically complies with the officer's request, presenting her hands without being asked to do so. She slips into autopilot even if the situation should induce more of a reaction. Her anger isn't spent, just dormant after she gave into it at the wrong time for the right reasons. When someone recognizable to her joins the male officer, she comes back to herself. It's officer Bowers, who nods at her.

What's she doing here…?

She's too decorated, right? Sometimes she'll come around the outskirts on what Jane had assumed was outreach because they're still a part of Fernweh. Most of the police patrol the actual town. It's also where she grew up according to her dad; he didn't say too much.

"Let's do this one at the time," she decides, gesturing to the yard. "Come on over."

She follows her.

Officer Bowers casts a glance at her co-worker before peering back at Jane, possibly studying her bleeding face. She doesn't frown or emote much. "Tell me: did you start this?"

"Yes, ma'am. I tackled Lucian first." Officer Bowers stares at her after that immediate, honest answer before turning her palm over, asking for elaboration. "I wanted them to leave the [Surname] home alone, but I got—I got upset. Then they ganged up on me, kicked me and—but, yes, I did start it. The rest was to protect myself from them; Lucian and the drunk one, not the other two. I didn't threaten them—it wasn't a weapon. It wasn't."

. . .

"Your father raised you right."

Jane blinks at that statement.

"But their story is going to clash. I've seen how this goes," she concludes. "You're going to end up in the back of the cruiser to make it easier."

"I didn't—"

"Do you know who you picked a fight with?"

Lucian Belmond, a well-to-do elite, and Charlene may be that grim reaper. She couldn't tell for sure. Reese wouldn't ever do this. "…Yes."

Although, she would've tackled anyone tonight.

"Then head to the cruiser, but keep your chin up."

She's going to spend the rest of her Halloween night at the station.

. . .

. .

.

"This beats the station, right?"

Jane barely has a chance to turn from the railing when you set a cup of apple cider down on its wide beam. She smiles faintly in gratitude, though it turns that much softer when you sidle up next to her, inviting her to wrap her arm around you. She holds you close. "It does."

"You're sure?" you wonder. "You seemed to be thinking about something serious. A case?"

She glances back at the dark cul de sac she once paced around to be closer to you after your return, except she then avoided getting too near at first. Patrolling an unlisted route for months went hand in hand with that. When you shift, Jane's complete attention is effortlessly redirected. "An incident, but it's in the past…"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Your question comes after a considerate pause, tempting her to reveal what happened—the extent of it. Jane hesitates, knowing you'll let her when it comes to these topics. She turns more to wrap you in a hug. "I want to hold you; that's all," she admits. "That's everything."

You might sense there's more going on.

She wouldn't put it past you—how you knew her back then as children and are learning more about whom she has become. Your grip on her grows tighter, letting her feel you and offering unsaid reassurance. You're here with her.

Jane closes her eyes to cherish this moment; for the first time in a long while, she's actually enjoying Halloween.