Arcane: Incubus

Scarecrow lifted his bloodied hand from Claggor's body and huffed.

 "There," he said softly. "I helped."

Powder started hyperventilating.

"...No," she whispered, her lip trembling at the sight of Claggor's limp body. She dropped to her knees.

"Claggor?" she pushed on his arm. "Please—Claggor, say something!" She kept pushing, her hands shaking.

Vi just stared, breathless.

"This isn't real, right?" she murmured, rubbing her face with both hands. "No. No no no..."

 She wanted to run to Claggor's side, but guilt tore at her chest. I should've done more. I should've saved him.

 The fear toxin still burned through her system, fogging her mind, slowing her limbs.

Scarecrow grinned at the sight of Vi's tears, then reached out to Powder and gently stroked her hair—his hand still red with Claggor's blood.

"All's well that ends well," he said, smearing the blood across her hair like paint.

Vi's breath caught. Seeing him touch Powder lit a spark of rage in her chest. She clenched her fists, her body trembling.

Scarecrow sighed and let go of Powder.

Without another word, he turned and began to walk away.

Vi wanted to lunge, to tear him apart—but she was still trembling, still poisoned with fear.

Instead, she collapsed beside Powder, wrapping her arms around her.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Powder—it's okay…"

Powder pushed her away.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked Vi in the eye.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed.

Vi blinked.

"Sorry?"

Powder pointed shakily to the smoking remains of the building.

"I didn't know it was going to explode like that. You have to believe me..."

Vi stared at her, stunned.

"You… did this?"

Her voice cracked.

 "It was you."

————————————————————

Scarecrow turned the corner—and found Silco waiting.

The man looked around, a knife clutched tight in one hand.

"Let's talk about our relationship," Scarecrow chirped, stepping in front of him.

Silco's jaw tensed.

"We don't have a relationship," he said sternly. "We're strangers. Let's keep it that way."

He tilted his head, eyes flicking past Scarecrow toward the flaming ruin.

"Why'd you do it?" Silco asked. "All of this. Was this the outcome you wanted?"

Scarecrow shook his head.

"I didn't cause the explosion," he said, voice light with amusement. "I just wanted to see one." He let out a chuckle.

Silco's gaze lingered on the burning structure.

Then back to him.

"So you knew this was going to happen. How?"

Scarecrow shrugged.

"Saw it in a dream."

Silco narrowed his eyes.

Liar.

But Scarecrow just yawned, casual as ever.

"The explosion. The shimmer. Singed getting burned…"

Silco's grip on the knife tightened. His unease deepened.

"Singed getting burned?" he repeated slowly. He hadn't known that.

"How do you know Singed?"

Scarecrow smiled.

"Same way I know you, dummy."

Then, before Silco could react, Scarecrow slung an arm around his shoulder—like they were old friends.

But then—

A voice, distant and cracking with sobs.

"Vi! Vi! Come back! Please—come back!"

Scarecrow's grin faded. He slipped his arm away.

"I think it's time I made my leave," he muttered, kicking a loose rock down an alley. It clattered into the dark.

"Fun talk… though I did most of the talking."

He turned and walked off, whistling something tuneless under his breath.

Silco stood still, eyes following him.

"Violet, please!"

The crying grew louder. Desperate.

That pulled Silco back to the present. He turned and headed toward the sound.

————————————————————

Scarecrow slipped into an alley, glancing back with a lazy grin.

Man, I wish I blew up that building, he thought.

But then he shook his head.

Nah… Powder needed this. For development.

He paused.

Though I doubt blowing up a building would develop me at all.

From the alley, he watched Powder jump into Silco's arms, sobbing. Silco—hesitant, hugged her back.

Scarecrow sighed, hands in his pockets.

Touching, he thought dryly.

Then turned away.

I need shimmer, he reminded himself.

But first—sleep.

His gaze drifted toward the smoldering remains of the building.

Doesn't seem like a pleasant place to sleep.

He scratched the back of his neck.

Guess I'll go bother someone I know.

And with that, he vanished—embarking on a quiet little journey to find somewhere to sleep.

————————————————————

-Piltover Academy-

"Let's see…" Jonathan muttered, his cat-like pupils adjusting easily to the dark as he scanned the hallway. "Ah. This one."

He knocked three times.

.

.

.

Then three more.

.

.

.

Just as he raised his hand for a third round, the door creaked open.

"…Who is it?" Viktor blinked tired, wearing soft flannel pajamas. His eyes narrowed. "Jonathan?"

"Yo," Jonathan raised his hand.

Viktor squinted. "Why are you here? Knocking at my room so late?"

Jonathan looked him up and down, taking in pajamas. "You look… comfortable," he commented, stepping right past him into the room like he owned it.

Viktor closed the door slowly, turning to face him. "Yes, they are very comfortable," he said dryly. "But that isn't what I asked. Why are you here?"

"Sleepover," Jonathan replied casually, already scanning the room. He pointed at a door. "I'll take that one."

"…That's my room," Viktor said, brows furrowing. Then, after a beat: "Sleepover, why?"

"To build trust."

Viktor blinked. "To build trust?" he echoed.

Jonathan nodded, earnest. "You never really trust someone unless you've slept with them."

There was a long pause. Viktor raised a single eyebrow.

Jonathan's eyes widened. He shook his head rapidly. "Okay—that came out wrong. Slept near! I meant slept near! Like… proximity-based trust building. Not that other kind."

Viktor stared at him flatly.

Jonathan scratched the side of his face. "Okay, I wasn't being honest about my reason."

"No," Viktor said, crossing his arms, "you weren't. Did you think I couldn't tell?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I was hoping you were too tired to care."

Viktor sighed. "Unfortunately for you, I am tired and I care."

"Okay, okay," Jonathan raised his hands in surrender. "My place… kinda blew up."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. "How does something kinda blow up?"

Jonathan clapped his hands together, then spread them wide. "Boom," he said simply.

A long pause. Viktor closed his eyes, visibly regretting asking. "You couldn't have gone to Jayce?"

Jonathan perked up. "Oh! Do you know where Jayce lives?"

Viktor stared at him.

". . ."

"You can sleep on the couch," he muttered.

Jonathan nodded. "That's fine," and wandered over to Viktor's couch, sinking into it with a satisfied sigh.

"Yeah, this'll do," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "Hey… can I ask you a question before you go to bed?"

Viktor paused mid-step. "I want to say no," he mumbled, rubbing one eye, "but I'm not that mean. What is it?"

Jonathan stared at him for a long second, head tilted as if debating how weird the question sounded. Then he spoke:

"Do Piltover prisons have conjugal visits?"

Viktor blinked.

He tilted his head slightly. "What is a conjugal visit?"

Jonathan blinked back. Then slowly shook his head. "Nevermind. Have a good night."

"…Right." Viktor yawned into his hand and nodded. "Likewise."

He turned and finally disappeared into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Jonathan sat in silence for a bit, staring at the ceiling.

…I hope Powder doesn't hate me, he thought, the dim room offering no comfort. Like… she should hate Scarecrow, that's a given. But would she resent me—Jonathan Crane—for disappearing?

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tense. I'd rather not interact with her… but she's going to work for Silco, and I work for Singed. Our paths will cross eventually.

He yawned, the weight of exhaustion pressing in, but his mind wouldn't stop pacing.

Vi's in prison, he thought, brows drawing together. I can't just wait around until she gets out. I need her.

An idea began to bloom in his head—ridiculous, bold, but plausible.

I suppose… I could become a psychiatrist. His lips curled faintly. If that's even a thing here.

He turned on his side, folding an arm beneath his head. I could work with Heimerdinger. Start in the hospitals, gain influence…

A slow, sly grin spread across his face.

Then get a position at the prison. Evaluate inmates. And talk with Vi one on one.

He closed his eyes.

His grin widened in the dark. Dr. Crane… has a nice ring to it.

Sleep finally crept in.

———————————

I should've made this story about another character.

I like scarecrow but he's more serious, but he does have his funny moments.

I probably should've gone with somebody like Jervis Tetch.

I'm not dropping the story, I'm just pointing that out.