SwordStitcher-Speaks volumes for my sanity, doesn't it?
eva-So there, Jonny.
Voodoo-Mutant-Child-I considered a DIY mask, but I'm lazy and not crafty. So I'll just stay home and eat all the candy.
AN: This was written to a combination of Breaking Benjamin's 'The Diary of Jane' and The Used's 'The Bird and the Worm'.
It's his first Halloween away from Granny and he's lying on the couch, barely able to breathe and questioning reality. Surely the walls aren't supposed to move.
"Jonathan? You okay?"
No. No, he is not okay. At least she's home. Now he can go to bed without worrying that she's been mugged or something.
"Mm-mm."
"You look like death, love. Three minutes."
He can't even stay awake for three minutes.
"Where you goin', Ichabod?"
"Yeah, come back here, Ichabod!"
He flings himself behind a heavy tree, gasping and wiping pumpkin out of his eyes. He's lucky his glasses only snapped, not shattered, but it feels like his nose is broken. He'll check when he gets home.
He shouldn't have believed them. They're always playing little 'jokes' like that, he shouldn't have gone. It says something, really, about his gullibility.
Footsteps run by his hiding place and he tenses, prepared to run. They fade into the distance. Jonathan gets up, checks to make sure they won't come back, and begins the long trudge home.
It's spooky out here this late at night. Sometimes he thinks he hears something following him, but there's never anything there.
Don't be an idiot, Jonathan, you're the only one out here for miles.
There! There's that horrid old scarecrow that's been there as long as he can remember. Just a few more steps and he's home free. His nose hurts. He won't be able to hide this from Granny, and he doesn't plan to try.
He's in bed with the lights out by one in the morning, shivering from the cold air. He doesn't sleep that night.
"Jonathan? Wake up, love."
He blinks. The walls are no longer moving. He feels phantom pain in his face from that long-ago night, but it fades almost immediately.
"Jonathan."
"K-Kitty."
"Hey. How're you feeling?"
"Really tired."
"I came home and you were sick." she says. "You fell asleep before I could get your temperature."
"Sorry."
After a minute, Kitty puts her hand on his forehead.
"Go to bed, love."
He stumbles into their bedroom and drops onto the bed. After a few minutes, he feels the blankets tugged over him.
"You all right?"
"Just a dream."
"Nightmare?"
"Mm-hm."
"Feel like talking?"
Maybe tomorrow. His throat's killing him right now and he just wants to sleep.
"Later."
"Night, love."
He's about to drop off when a whiff of pumpkin pie drifts in through the window. He grimaces and gets up to shut it. He's never been able to stomach pumpkin pie, not after that little incident.
"Ichabod!"
He shakes his head and goes back to bed. It's one in the morning. Perhaps he imagined the pumpkin pie, perhaps not. Whatever the case, he doesn't want to remember any more.
Kitty winds herself around him like-pardon the pun-a cat. He doesn't move her, even though she'll probably catch whatever it is he has.
"Night, Kitty." he says softly. His throat twinges at the use. She doesn't answer him.
Jonathan closes his eyes and tries to forget that night. It doesn't matter anymore.
THE END
