Darkness.
He did not know what exactly had made him come to, but all he knew was that he did not just pass out in the cargo hold.
He could feel the sweat that stuck the hair to his forehead; his head covered with a rough material. Hot. Burlap.
He knew that he was gagged – he knew that he was blinded.
Damn it, whoever had him was very thorough.
Against his wrists, waist, and ankles, he could feel, were.. restraints. A cool metal against his exposed back.
This was not good.. not good...
A muffled sound, but a door. A thick one. It echoed in the room.
Footsteps. Whoever it was, they carried quite a muscle mass, yet controlled their footing. Their weight.
He swallowed quietly, hearing the faint clatter of metal.
Silence..
Something.. scribbling... a pen? Another patter.
The head sack was torn off of his head, and a sterile scent immediately invaded what was left of his olfactory.
It was heaven to breathe fresh air, as fresh as it could possibly be with that musty smell of rust and.. something decomposing.
Silence again. Before..
A scalpel. It's blade was poking where he used to know his nose to be.
However, he did not flinch. He remained still as the scalpel traced its way over his cheekbone and down.. down... to his collarbone.
And then it was pulled away.
Silence. A pen scribbling.
And a hand.. it untied that blasted gag.. and the blindfold.
He did not open his eyes, quite unresponsive as his head hung low.
A gloved hand touched him, gripping his chin to pull his head up for a small while, then released it again to write.
A slap. A very light one. A few more against his right cheek.
He turned his head away from the hand, though it followed.
He finally released a quiet groan, and squinted at the black, gloved-hand. His eyes traveled up the white sleeve, over the symbol and identification card.
The bearded man leaned in. "I thought my guards had produced a dead man to me."
The man faintly blinked, registering the lab coat, but he felt his eyes slowly shut again as his head drifted off to the right.
The hand came back to push it forward again, a finger pressing against his philtrum.
He opened his eyes slightly, a bit wider this time, but still lidded, seeing the hand drag down to press against his neck. The fingers felt down his collarbone, shoulder.. and arms. Or was the man just pressing on them?
All he knew was that he did not like it.
"Can you hear me?"
He watched the man from his left eye, processing.
The man before him had a chin strap. No hair on the top of his head. Old-fashioned spectacles. His voice was alarmingly deep, and stern.
The older man scrutinized the other as well, waiting. "Answer me," he demanded.
"Go," the raspy voice struggled, "to hell," he wheezed.
The older man analyzed. A damaged larynx. Lungs. Everything sounded rusty and underused.
"I wonder just how long you were struggling to survive," he ignored the comment, "and the pain you must have felt."
The rogue glanced to his right to the bond around his wrist, his eyes trailing down to the bond against his waist, then ankle, and slowly looked up to give a cold stare.
"How did it feel, to have your flesh ripped out of you in significant amounts? To have your blood pour? Your eye torn apart?"
The bonded man swallowed, observing his reflection, and the grey eyes behind it.
"Did you feel fear, I wonder? When your life was threatened?"
No response.
The man in lab coat looked over the other. A silence held between them.
"Doctor Jonathan Crane," he announced.
"Professor," the bonded man took a breath. "Hugo Strange," he exhaled.
The older man smirked in satisfaction. "I take it you remember me, then."
The rogue moistened his lips. "I could have just," he inhaled, "read off of your name tag."
"A good point.. but we both know that that is not the case." Strange stepped carefully around the rogue. "I watched you fall from doctor to patient."
"You wanted me to fall," he hissed to the man that he could no longer see, turning his head to the left. "Just so," he almost coughed to say, "you could get to the Warden."
"Well, you were in my way," Strange reemerged, pacing by the cart of rusting tools. Bloody. "Head psychiatrist was such a convenient position."
Bastard. Fucking bastard.
They were once coworkers. The man had showed extreme interest in one-on-one meetings, things that were only a blur to him. Except for one thing: He remembered a light.. warm, and drifting.
Since his "get-togethers" with the man, he had found himself increasingly taking risks, between sneaking his toxin around impulsively, lashing out quite a few times against the Batman during his visits to the asylum.. and even getting intimate. He had gotten sexual with the staff – guards, doctors – even the Warden. And the older man had even liked it.
But he was not fired for that. The staff kept it amongst themselves, staying true to the head psychiatrist. What got him fired was his careless antics that the Batman had caught on to. The Blackgate prisoners he had transferred into Arkham all experienced a form of extreme anxiety, several of them dying from heart attacks – all cases undocumented, but Batman would have nothing of it. He investigated the strange cases for several weeks, finally backtracking to Crane. Warden Sharp was forced to fire the man, putting on a show for the vigilante in court – and so Jonathan Crane was condemned to the asylum as a patient, for his unethical experiments.
Fired a second time for his experiments.
Since his incarceration, Doctor Hugo Strange had replaced him as head psychiatrist. Under his jurisdiction, the man was moved into Intensive Treatment, the second inmate to have been put in such constricted confinement.
Ruined. All because of that man who stood before him.
Crane breathed harder and harder as his mind unwillingly reminisced. "Wicked man," he accused through his frenzied thoughts. "You deserve death, a drowning," he almost gagged. "Wicked Devil!"
Strange observed. "I am surprised that, even though your great grandmother has hurt you.. you still have her words ingrained in your head."
"Don't you dare," he snapped, "mention her-!" he swallowed a choke, shutting his eyes from the burning sensation that was eating up his airway with every vibration through attempted speech.
"Keeney, wasn't it? Her last name?"
The Scarecrow lashed forward, baring his remaining teeth in a growl that devastated his windpipe. "I despise what you did to me," he fought the urge to gasp. "I despise your hellish hypnosis; I despise your unwillingness to die," his voice lowered, so much that his throat screamed in agony to convey, "and I despise you."
Strange furrowed his brow as if he could not comprehend the amount of hatred one had for him. "Why, Jonathan, I did not know that you were so passionate for me."
Crane looked more than furious. "Impale yourself, motherfucker," he forced out.
Hugo leaned in, tilting his head with a developing sneer. "Perhaps you have your gender confused."
Jonathan almost felt steam come from his ears. He immediately ground his molars together, biting down.. harder, and harder...
Strange furrowed his brow through his arrogance from the sudden struggle that the man was going through. "Am I bothering you that heavily?" he teased further.
There was a pop.
A hiss.
Strange blinked from the sound, observing carefully.
The Scarecrow immediately lifted his eyes to make the contact with the older man. Blood leaked from between his lips, the red stream drizzling down his chin.
Space was put in his mouth. Something building.
"What the hell did you just do?" the older man asked.
When he did not receive an answer, he gripped the rogue's chin, forcing the bloody lips to part..
Jonathan's breath expelled from his lungs, blowing a wisp into the man's face.
The older man immediately reeled, studying the golden gas that was released. "Damn you!" he snapped, clearing the room.
Jonathan exhaled the remaining toxin, spitting the shattered tooth and blood.
Fear toxin stored in the pulp tissue of his molars. Used as a last resort. Wasted on anger.
The rogue looked down to the speckles of blood on the dulling tile.
There was no doubt that he had just gotten on the man's bad side.
And he almost felt a twinge of dread.
"Patient interview three." A small pause. "Crane doesn't seem to realize he's been incarcerated. He speaks as though we are still coworkers.. I must know how he thinks.. what he thinks of the people around him: Human beings? Or just rats?"
A door.
The psychiatrist faintly cleared his throat. "Good morning, Jonathan."
Silence, other than the shuffle and sound of tightening straps.
"Are you alright?"
No answer.
"Jonathan," Stephen called out, sighing slightly from the lack of a response. "Can you tell me what's wrong?" he tried a softer approach.
"Nothing is. I was just wondering how Mister Cash can manage with that hand. Or lack of it."
"Focus on your Doc, Crane," Cash warned.
"Did it hurt?"
"Focus on Doctor Kellerman," he repeated.
"It was just last week, wasn't it? I wonder, why did you decide to have a hook, rather than another hand?"
"So I can scare the living hell out of the freaks around here!" the guard snapped.
"Aaron," Stephen attempted.
"Rather an odd thing to mutilate your body in order to inspire fear," the Scarecrow commented, "but isn't that what Batman does?"
"Crane, I'm warning you. Stay focused!" Kellerman attempted to keep his composure. It was still early in their sessions; only the second week, and he found himself going home with anxiety that was unlike him, occasionally picking fights with his wife over obscurities. And he knew exactly where his feelings stemmed from.
He worked with Jonathan Crane. He met him two years back through mandatory meetings of the medical staff, held by Sharp himself. They had learned new self-defense techniques that day due to the prior incident of one of their doctors falling victim to the Joker. The clown had only used a paperclip, which resulted in a dead man with a sloppily-carved smile in his cheeks.
Sharp held the meeting just a week later.
The Warden had presented the memorial in his opening speech. Jonathan did not seem phased from the mentioning of their passed staff member. Every one of the medical staff shared their stories of remembrance of the man, all except Jonathan Crane. He kept to himself, not even batting a lash from the photo projected up on the overhead.
Kellerman had felt suspicion rise within him, but did not act on it. He could not do anything, anyway. He had no proof, nothing to base his theories on. So he let that detail about Jonathan evaporate.
In the weeks following that same meeting, Stephen had gotten to know the man quite well, in terms of his work schedule.
Jonathan Crane was the head psychiatrist. He would oversee the transport of unstable criminals, mainly from Blackgate, into Arkham Asylum. The man had tons upon tons of work; representing the asylum in court with Warden Sharp, caring for thirteen patients at a time, along with analyzing the paperwork of his coworkers' extreme cases and verifying the prescriptions. Every medication administered in the asylum was under Jonathan's authority.
The quiet man was a God on the asylum's grounds. Compared to him, Doctor Kellerman thought himself to be almost unworthy to even glimpse at him, but following the meeting, Jonathan had been the one to approach him.
The young doctor had asked for his name.
"Stephen," he had responded, a little flustered inside from the man talking to him. "Doctor Stephen Kellerman," he corrected himself, fixing his collar.
"Stephen," Jonathan echoed, then hummed. "Would you like to accompany me for lunch, Stephen?" he asked with a bat of his lashes.
He jumped on the opportunity as soon as it presented itself.
Without Jonathan, he would never have become one of the top psychiatrists in the field that he was today.
"Yo, Steve," Cash called. "You okay?"
"Yes," Kellerman cleared his throat, making eye contact with the psychiatrist-turned-patient before him. The icy, blue eyes bore back into his hazel ones. "Jonathan," he addressed, "I wanted to talk about your other persona."
"Oh? And what about him, Doctor Kellerman?"
Stephen's focus faltered. "Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"I have a wife," he scolded, "I would prefer you to not talk like that around me."
Jonathan glanced over him with a small crease in his brow. "I'm sorry," he apologized, almost sounding sincere. "Go on?" the rogue prompted.
Kellerman studied him carefully. He had heard rumors about the man, rumors that the man had been sleeping around – flirting with the staff – with the guards, other medical staff, even the Warden himself.
But if that were to be true, then he would have been fired long ago.
"Why a scarecrow?" he questioned. "Must it have something to do with your childhood?"
"Such a silly question," Jonathan drawled.
"Does it?"
Crane did not reveal a thing to him, not even an expressional hint.
"Yo, man," Cash called, "answer your Doc. Make this easier on all of us today."
The rogue remained silent for the longest, aching moments, until he spoke softly, "no."
"Wake up."
Liquid.
He immediately coughed from the splatter, his eyes opening.
The older man hovered, hands behind his back in strict posture. "I hope you had a peaceful dream," he mocked, "because you will not be able to recall the meaning of peace once I am through with you."
Crane stared hard at the man, looking for the source of the splash. It was dripping from his chin.
Strange paced around him, studying the man's blind eye as he stepped by.
The young rogue's line of vision did not follow the figure, simply looking up to the glass of little water on the table to his right, scalpels and a thick syringe adorning the surface.
"I had a question for you," Hugo revealed, walking by him again, and stopped. He looked down at the man to make eye contact, but the villain was reluctant.
So the older man leaned down to get in his face instead, observing, hands on either side of the rogue's shoulders against the metal.
Jonathan's eyes hesitantly glanced up the lab coat to finally make the desired contact.
Strange held it, humming in satisfaction. "What do you fear?" he purred gently.
"Nothing," his eyes averted to the identification card, then looked back up to the man as the other shifted.
Strange followed his hand down the metal. "Everyone fears something," he lifted his eyes. "Even you."
Jonathan leaned, icy eyes boring into the man. "I fear nothing."
"Not death?" Hugo's fingers trailed down to the strap at the Scarecrow's ankle.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes from the man lowering himself. "No."
"Rejection?"
Crane started to nibble on his lip from the fingers. What was he doing? Unstrapping him? "No," he repeated.
Hugo hooked his hand beneath the man's calf, black, gloved-fingers feeling up the rogue's popliteal. "What about pain?" he growled. The fingers suddenly bit into him, his leg forced up, bent between them.
Jonathan cried out from the pressure put on his injured femur and down, his body squirming uncomfortably.
The older man watched the rogue struggle against him, looking down the body as it worked to preserve itself. He pressed forward, inches between them. "Does it hurt?" he cooed.
The Scarecrow shut his eyes tightly, his mouth opening to portray his agony through pitiful wails. "Stop!" he howled. "Let go of me!"
But the man forced his fingers deeper against the flesh, latching on from the plea. The corners of his lips lifted, his eyes narrowing as he sadistically forced the leg to move.
The Scarecrow widened his eyes from the agonizing shock. He panted, sharp waves penetrating his nerve ends. He felt his mind flicker once, twice.. His body was on fire…!
Hugo observed the man's body language with acute interest; hands clenching, droplets of sweat forming on his temple, his eyes rolling. "Think of this as a reminder of what position you hold, Doctor Crane," he hissed. "Under me. In bondage." He released the leg with a harsh shove.
The limb fell, lifeless. Jonathan's gaze shook from the slow-fading tremor that had wracked his body. Small, breathless cries left his quivering lips.
Strange took the time to study again. "Pathetic," he ruled. "And here I thought that the Scarecrow would be more intimidating."
After the pain had dulled down, Crane's eyes opened with a burning rage. "I'm going to," he struggled, "rip your head from your neck." He breathed in, "your tendons will snap. Your veins will bleed for me," the rogue hissed in his frenzy. "Regret, and agony will be your last emotions in death.. Shock."
Strange sneered from the fate condemned to him. "Unlikely," he mocked. "Now do yourself a big favor, Jonathan; don't fight me." His hand disappeared inside the coat pocket. "Tell me what you fear.." he pulled out a familiar test tube to the rogue. "Or I will just have to use your weapon against you."
Crane looked over the golden toxin the other held between his fingers. Bubbles floated to the surface.
Strange's gaze met with the rogue's, a dark glint overshadowing it. "Why, you look a bit disturbed, Jonathan," he purred. "What ever is wrong?"
"Where did you get that?" he asked quietly with a faint blink, swallowing.
"Why don't you guess?" he evaluated the liquid with much admiration, rolling the test tube slightly between his thumb and index.
The Scarecrow immediately made eye contact in dismay. When he first developed the prototypes of his toxin, he would hide the samples in his sleeves. It was the perfect spot; accessible, concealable, not too obvious. The small bulge could have been easily mistaken as a watch beneath the cloth of his long-sleeves. At least, that is what he thought, up until the GCPD had easily searched him, finding his sleeve to be the most horrible hiding spot he could have used.
So he experimented, each time coming up with different hiding places for his toxin; upper arm, under arm, ankle.. but all failed. He remembered one late night in Arkham, lying on his designated cot with the Scarecrow's infamous insomnia. There, he would absentmindedly tug on his curls, blank stare on the light that came from the hallway.
Heavy footsteps. Keys. His eyes refocused to follow the guard the heavyset guard that passed by. But the footsteps halted. The man backtracked, clicking his flashlight on to peer into the cell. "Go to sleep."
The Scarecrow continued to play with his locks, pupils constricting as he watched the silhouette beyond the intense light.
"I said… go to sleep," the guard threatened quietly, "or I'll have to sedate you."
"I was already sedated," he revealed. "I told them it would not work." Jonathan blinked, his lidded eyes falling. "They didn't listen to me."
"Alright, spooky, just take it easy," the man half-mocked, clicking off the flashlight. "And do me a favor," he called out.
The Scarecrow glanced back up to him.
"Don't creep me out like that."
The rogue watched the man pass the bars, listening to the footsteps echo down the hall.
Earlier that morning, when he was scheduled for his weekly white cell count, he had snuck a paperclip as the doctor recorded the information needed. He had hid the paperclip in his mouth, and proceeded to pick at his hated, orange uniform with that dastardly symbol embedded into it. In a few minutes, he was able to pull a long enough thread from the uniform, tear it, and quickly unbuckle the front of his jumpsuit. He slipped the thread through the paperclip, making sure it was secure before tying it to his thigh, and pulled it tight. Hearing the footsteps and rolling cart down the hall, he had quickly put his jumpsuit back together, and waited for his medication.
Not one guard had caught him. It was the night that he had tried something new; hiding objects against his inner thighs. And it worked extremely well as a hiding spot.
Up until now.
Jonathan shifted in the bonds. "Why did you look there?"
"One could never be too careful." Strange eyed him, then took the syringe from the dulling tray.
Crane exhaled as the older man prepared the syringe. Damn it, he did a number on his throat from the screaming he had emitted for all of Arkham City to hear.
"Are you going to answer my question?" the man readdressed, discarding the test tube. He examined the needle, thumb applying pressure to the plunger as he watched the liquid squirt, ridding it of air bubbles.
The Scarecrow swallowed in attempt to soothe his throat, wincing from the sharp pain reliving in his abused leg. "I fear nothing and no one," he reiterated, though his confidence faltered in the statement. "You are wasting my toxin, injecting me like this!" he snapped.
"Nonsense: I will be able to watch you squirm under its clutches."
"But I won't," Jonathan hissed. "Ngh!"
Strange drew the needle back from the bonded man's neck.
Crane exhaled from the harsh tear of his skin, his heart beat pounding in his throat. "My toxin is not a toy," he lectured. "I did not make it for others to throw it to the wind!"
"I understand that," Strange's eyes traveled down the rogue's face and back up. "But I gave you options, Jonathan, and you let your arrogance get the better of you."
Jonathan bit his fractured lips. "You should talk," he snapped, sweat running down his temple as he pushed down the urge to break out into a panic attack. "Your career at Arkham down spiraled from arrogance."
"You shouldn't talk about things that you don't understand," Hugo stiffened. "Arrogance had nothing to do with it."
"I know that you conducted experiments of your own," Crane pressed. "And I know that you fled because inmates were crying wolf. You became sloppy covering them up, just as you made me. You couldn't handle being the head psychiatrist like I could," the rogue taunted. "You wanted fame and fortune, and you can only blame yourself for your unraveling."
The older man clenched his fist, but slowly breathed in, then released it. "I may have stumbled a bit back in the asylum, I admit, but if you have not noticed yet, Jonathan, I am in a position of great power over Arkham City. Those mistakes in my past mean nothing to me."
"You certainly seemed moved when I mentioned them.." Crane's dilated eyes searched the man. "You should not lie to yourself like that, Doctor Strange; it's not a healthy practice-" Air escaped his lungs, his head forced to the left against the metal. He accepted the pain that stung his cheek, not bothering to soothe it. He opened his eyes to the older man with quite a collected composure. "And your temper only gives you away."
Hugo lowered his gloved fist, and started to pace once again. "Tell me: How are you feeling?" he brushed off the comment.
"I am not feeling any effects of my toxin, if that is what you are referring to," the Scarecrow spoke.
But it was a bloody lie. He saw the twisted figure of the man; the demonic, dark abyss of the eyes. The sharp teeth. The pointed ears...
"Are you certain about that?" Strange rubbed his bottom lip as he evaluated, looking to the man's eyes. "Your pupils tell otherwise. Unless.. you are enamored?"
Crane hissed from the implication. "I couldn't care less about you!" the rogue scoffed.
Strange shared eye contact with the Scarecrow, his vision vaguely shifting. He remembered eight years ago – how easily the man had fallen into his web through their conferences – through submission in their conversations, allowing the man too close.. and of course, through hypnosis.
Even before he had molded him into the asylum's whore, he always had the faintest suspicion of Jonathan's antics. He flirted – perhaps unintentionally – with his eyes and lips.
His eyes shared the same colour as his lady's.
No, no, no! No obsessions! Get her out of your head. The Scarecrow.
He flirted – something he caught especially when others occupied them. Dining with him for lunch grew his awareness, when their waiter had brought them the check. Jonathan had made eye contact with the waiter as he licked the remaining ice cream from the dip of his spoon. It was slow, sensual.. and extremely suggestive.
Strange had, ever since, been fascinated with the man, asking for more and more time with him. One night, he had invited Jonathan to dinner to the Iceberg Lounge.. and they stayed out late. Extremely late, in fact, that when Strange came home to his lady, they had broken out into an argument that had lasted well into four in the morning.
She was jealous. She was furiously jealous, and had threatened to leave him. And she smiled while she said it. Mocking. She almost sounded as if she had always planned to leave him.
But Strange would have nothing of it. His temper had gotten out of control that night. Dismantled her – ripped her limbs apart; burned her. And stuffed all of her little pieces into a garbage bag, throwing her out. Strange had stayed awake that entire night, cleaning up the bits of flesh he had missed.
He had watched out his window that morning, looking down upon that alleyway, waiting for the garbage disposal to drop by. He made sure that the body was taken, and crushed, those metal teeth biting through her rotting skin.
The GCPD had never caught word of the murder, and never will.
That same morning, he remembered showering the blood off to ready himself for the walk he had asked Jonathan for at nine. The man had agreed, of course, and they walked for hours on end on their day off from work.
And that was the day that Jonathan Crane invited Hugo Strange to his living space.
It was not necessarily an unprepossessing dwelling – a small, comfortable apartment with four rooms – but it did have its quirks.
The first that that Hugo noticed upon his arrival in the space of Jonathan Crane was books: Bookshelves lined the walls left and right, this way and that. There was no television. Only books. And quite a decorative blue, Queen Anne chair beside an unlit fireplace. It was quiet, and had an illustrious quality to it.
The second thing he noticed was the fume that clung to the air. Something.. of an interesting scent. Chemicals.
That day was also the first day he had been introduced to the Scarecrow.
Jonathan had told him stories, his endless studies on fear – his experiments on the inmates, the homeless, rats, hookers..
Jonathan asked of him to keep it secret between them, asked him as a dear friend to understand, to not rule him a psychopath as so many have.
Strange contained the man's dark secret for months – and with it, slowly sabotaged him.
Crane had ended up being caught for his own carelessness in covering his tracks. Of course, through subliminal messages was this only possible.
Through the next year of Strange's manipulation, Jonathan had become bombarded with guards and doctors who could not keep their hands off of him, so distracted by the sexuality around him that his attention span diminished significantly in hiding his experiments. The Batman had easily tracked him down.
Since the Scarecrow's incarceration, Hugo Strange was promoted to head psychiatrist, and continued puppeteering the staff and Warden to his disposal. He got away with it. He continued to get away with taunting the Scarecrow, abusing the man as he was confined to his cot in restraints. He abused him.. sexually abused him…
The catatonic state the psychiatrist-turned-inmate had fallen under was almost too amusing for Strange to ignore in his mistreatment of the man. The rogue was in disbelief of him; of what he made him do. Of what he had to live with. The light in his blue eyes had crumbled…
Strange stared at the icy gaze, feeling his heartbeat pick up. He dropped his eyes, his hand disappearing into white.
Jonathan furrowed his brow from the previous, long pause between them. It was unnerving, the silence. He watched the man refill the syringe. "Don't you understand that it does not have any effect on me‽"
"Perhaps not with just one dose." Strange refused to make eye contact, glancing down the barrel of the syringe before bringing the needle up to the man's neck.
The Scarecrow shut his eyes from the prick, shying away as he was injected, his mouth open as he heard shrieks in the air. A buzzing. Bats. Flapping. Loud, screeching, deafening bats!
He quickly jerked his head to the left from the wings that harshly brushed his temple. More bodies..! He turned his head away to avoid the claws and teeth. They weren't real!
Crane felt claws grip his chin, and he immediately cried out from the incredibly real stimulation. He forced his head out of the grip through his hysteria, clenching his teeth.
"Open your eyes," the demonic voice bellowed.
Jonathan felt the claws bite at his cheeks, at his eyelids, his mouth. He couldn't breathe..! His heart pounded.. it raced…!
Strange watched the man fight him, frustrated from the constant avoidance, but amused all the same. "What is it, Jonathan? Is the almighty Scarecrow afraid?" he cooed.
Jonathan tossed and turned his head from the bats swarming him, feeling them crawl and nip.. bite deep… They were infesting his flesh..! Drinking from him!
The sounds invading his ears escalated, a high-pitched ring floating about his head. Flicker.
The older man watched as the rogue's head lolled through his fainting. "Oh, come now, don't give up." Strange picked the man's head up to study. But the man was already submerged in darkness. Hugo lifted an eyebrow, releasing the rogue with a quiet hum.
What could it have been? The Scarecrow's greatest fear? Something he wished to avoid. Something that was getting on him? It could not have been insects. The man was known for experimenting on them. So what, then? Something going for his face…
Strange tapped his lip, observing the limp body. He swallowed and returned to his clipboard, taking the pen from his pocket to jot his thoughts down.
"Patient interview seven."
"Good evening, Stephen," the Scarecrow purred. "How are you feeling?"
"Jonathan.. this is my session," Kellerman spoke carefully. "I would prefer it to stay that way."
"I cannot ask you about your general well being?" the rogue asked.
"You and I both know that you couldn't care less," the balding doctor sternly snapped. "You're just trying to get under my skin, like you do everyone else."
"Perhaps so," his voice trailed off. "Or perhaps I do care, since you are the one I see most often.."
Stephen shifted in his chair, letting out a soft sigh as he unbuttoned the top of his collared-shirt. He had had one hell of a day. His daughter had asked him to come to her final competition last night that imitated a Gotham Goliaths field game between her middle school and her rivals. She had prepared for this since elementary school, had an interest in baseball her whole childhood – and this was a special event for her, before transitioning to high school.
Unfortunately, the night that the game fell on was just the night before, the same night that Sharp had scheduled him. When he had gotten home around one in the morning, his wife had been waiting for him in the front doorway. She had told him that their daughter had been quiet the whole ride home from the losing game and slammed her door, locked it – and proceeded to wail. The cops were even called by the neighbors from the alarm.
His wife shed tears as she kicked him out of the house, taking his key. Left him stranded.
Kellerman pinched his brow between his thumb and index, huffing. His back was sore from sleeping in his car a few blocks down.
Jonathan blinked from the unusual silence. "What are you doing for Valentine's Day, Stephen?" he attempted.
"Work."
"You won't be with your wife?"
"No."
"Why is that?" he inquired.
"The Warden decided to schedule me that day. Please, Jonathan, just focus on the session."
"Perhaps I could get you a present? If your wife cannot be your Valentine.." He lowered his eyes before looking back up to the man, icy, blue eyes meeting brown. "I could."
"You're deranged," he snapped.
"If you were not married, would you consider it?"
"Stop this, Jonathan!" Kellerman slammed his hand down on the desk.
The rogue purred, "I wonder how she would feel, if she found out that you wanted to cheat on her.."
The doctor glared at his patient. "I don't want to cheat on her!"
"Are you afraid of her finding out, Stephen?" he drawled.
"ENOUGH!" the man spat. "Stop talking about my wife! I will not allow it!"
Jonathan became quiet from the yell, watching the files on the desk. He slowly batted his lashes and locked their eyes once again, whispering, "I bet you cannot wait for Miss Isely to be your patient this October.."
"Guards!"
He groaned quietly, unclenching his fists. "Get them off of me," came a faint whisper before he could think, and he immediately opened his eyes to his surroundings.
The bearded man watched him, hand supporting his chin as he observed, index over his lips. Jonathan's gaze finally landed on his, a long, intense air hanging between them. "What did you see?" he asked.
The Scarecrow stared with such an emotionless expression that the older man started to chew on his lip.
Jonathan followed the man with his eyes as the other stood from the far desk, footsteps echoing. He kept his head lifted as he was approached.
The older man's eyes traveled up the body before latching onto the icy stare again. "Do you remember what had caused you to faint?" he turned his head up.
Crane did not make eye contact, simply focusing on the hem of the other's lab coat.
The older man furrowed his brow, glancing over the rogue before he grabbed at the injured leg. "I am not one to condone the silent game," he hissed.
Jonathan made a small sound, his head lowered as he prepared himself for the pain.
Strange only held the weakened limb, studying it with a trace of his fingers against the bone beneath. "..I assume Waylon Jones did this to you in your scuffle."
Crane watched the gloved digits glide over his leg before his eyes shifted up to observe the expression that the other held.
Hugo moistened his lips, "how did you escape?"
The rogue cried out in laughter.
"Don't do it, Crane!"
Oh, the pity of it! The vigilante was far too easy on him. As if a plea will sway him!
The Scarecrow cackled, taking another step back to drop his toxin into the depths below..
And he screamed. Claws bit into his flesh.. strangling him.. tossed around like a rag doll! Electricity surged through him; it left him teetering… and..
Water. He was submerged.
As he struggled to pry himself free of the claws, Jonathan fought to not breathe the tainted water. Teeth bit down…!
He cried out, air bubbles escaping him as blood clouded the water between them. His chest burned as he latched onto the head of the mutated man, needles thrusting into the eye sockets..!
Jonathan stared into nothingness before he emerged himself in the present. "I gave Mister Jones a concentrated dose of my toxin," he minded the hand. "Through his eyes."
"How daring," Strange left the limb alone to focus on the man's blind eye.
Jonathan stiffened from the gloved hand taking a hold of his chin. "Why are you studying me?" he demanded.
"You are interesting," Strange commented, tracing the bone of the eye socket.
Crane swallowed, finding it harder and harder to breathe the closer the man came to him.
The older man focused in on the clouded pupil; bright and pure.
The Scarecrow took the time to observe the grey ones behind the spectacles as well. His lids fell slightly, looking down the face and back up. "Are you quite finished?"
Strange pulled back slightly after registering the words. "You speak with disgust," he spoke, "but I know you don't actually feel that way."
Crane narrowed his eyes, his mouth shifting..
Strange glared slightly, standing up straight as he slowly wiped the saliva from his face, the material of his gloves squeaking as he tightened his fists at his sides. "You will regret that," he hissed.
"I already am. Your breath is saturated with alcohol," he scoffed as he rolled his eyes.
Hugo grabbed the man by the chin again, crushing the flesh and bone as he growled.
"Sir," came a call.
The older man released his prisoner, but still watched him. "What is it?"
The man in beret and sunglasses stood in the doorway behind him. "We think we've tracked down the Riddler's coordinates in the Bowery. How should we proceed?"
To this, Strange perked up immediately, facing away from Jonathan. "Send your men for him. I want Mister Nygma in my custody within the hour."
"Yes, sir," the man shut the door.
Crane watched the man's back, finding the air eerie between them. "Edward is in Arkham City?"
"Edward?" he pointed out in mockery as he turned, "how informal of you.."
"Don't get any ridiculous ideas," he snapped.
"You are… familiar with him?" the older man pressed.
The Scarecrow slowly placed his head back against the metal. "We ran into each other quite a few times," he revealed softly.
"Really.."
Crane sneered. "But I am afraid that your guards are in quite the trouble.."
Hugo narrowed his eyes. "And why is that?"
"They might just end up in one of his traps, if they are not too careful.. surely you would not want to be held responsible for their deaths.. for not taking the precaution of Edward's antics."
"Watch me, Jonathan, I will not allow such a nonsensical thing to happen."
"Move out."
They spread throughout the room. Tracks. The room was quiet besides the many footsteps.
A muffled patter.
The guards looked at each other before finding the stairs, quietly ascending the steps..
The man closest to the door counted down on his fingers.
They kicked the door in..
"Good evening, gentleman," came the snarky voice.
The men turned the left corner of the room to find the camera pointing at a white backdrop.
"I'm sorry that it was you who had to go out like this, but Strange can't say I didn't warn him of what would happen if he tried to trace me."
Immediately, a gate crashed down to the cover the doors.
"Sir, we're trapped!" the leader of the group reported. "He has us locked in here!"
"Is he at your location?" Strange voiced over the communications.
"No, only some projector of him. No sign of the Riddler."
Silence, before.. "Thank you for your services." Static.
The guard swallowed. "Sir!"
"Let's end your miserable lives with a riddle, shall we?"
The men left the projection. "Search for another exit!" the leader looked for any secret doors along the walls as the others made the mess into a bigger mess – empty coffee cups and cigarette trays littered the floor once they were through with the tables.
"Riddle me this: If you look to your left…"
"There's no way out!" they ignored the Riddler's chatter in the background.
The leader stood there, hand around one of the bars that separated them from their freedom.
"…But of course, if you were listening, you might have still survived."
The man looked up, hearing a beeping as he swallowed.
Strange pinched his brow, his eyes shut.
Jonathan watched the man in his frustration, but did not open his mouth to gloat.
The older man shifted slightly, but otherwise did not make a move to pick his head up from his hand.
"What did he do to make you wish to capture him?" finally came the gentle voice.
"The Riddler is an arrogant child," he hissed." And I promised him a procedure."
"You are going to kill him?"
Strange glanced up to the man, but found no emotion in his face. "Not kill," he answered. "Just humiliate him.. and destroy every inch of that coward's pathetic 'intelligence'."
Jonathan tilted his head to the left, then to the right. "That is, if you can find him."
Strange rubbed his chin strap as he contemplated. "How did you first meet him?"
Jonathan furrowed his brow from the question. "Why curious about that?"
"I just wish to know a little history between the two of you."
Crane batted his lashes once. "Why?" he repeated, voice cold.
"I am curious, like you said." Strange leaned forward on his folded fingers. "Talk to me."
Jonathan watched the man, parting his deformed lips. "I stumbled into one of his traps a few years ago."
Strange fidgeted. "You are not dead," he concluded.
"No, I am not," the rogue tried to shift his injured leg, wincing slightly. "I was able to solve his riddle."
"But he still kills his victims, even if they solve his riddle."
"Yes," he confirmed, "but let's just say that I… manipulated him."
"Flirted with him, then."
"Something like that." Jonathan moistened his lips. "After that, I suppose we got along. Acquaintances, at the very least.. He used my base of operations, I used his.."
Hugo fed on the information. "Hmn.." He steepled his fingers over his lips as he continued to observe.
The Scarecrow knew the man was considering using him as a hostage. He could see it in his stare. "Perhaps we could negotiate?" he purred.
"That would be rather foolish of me. Like you have previously established, you despise me. You will betray me somehow."
"I could betray you." Jonathan's gaze did not falter. "But for me to do so would mean suicide, what with all of those brutal Tyger guards you have under your control…"
Hugo narrowed his eyes slightly. "Do not think you can manipulate me so easily, Doctor Crane."
The rogue blinked slightly. "Let me go and I will help you find him.. and capture him."
"Release you back into Arkham City, you mean? How.. convenient for your escape."
"Not back into your city," the rogue cooed. "Keep me here if you must.. supply me with the components for my toxin... and I will help you."
Strange hummed. "You could get into much trouble here."
Jonathan lowered his gaze before locking their eyes again. "Do what you want with me, then, if you find me misbehaving. Bond me, rip my heart out, if you will, and feed my remains to Mister Jones... I will not fight you."
Strange slowly stood, stepping around the desk, taking the scalpel as he passed the tray. "You must be delusional to think that I would ever release you."
Jonathan narrowed his eyes, turning his head up from the blade. "Then what do you plan to do with me? Talk me to death?"
Hugo let out an exhale of a laugh. "No. I am nowhere near finished with you." He dragged the scalpel along the man's jawline. "You said that death does not faze you."
"It does not." The Scarecrow swallowed, blinking calmly.
"Why is that, though? Everyone is afraid of death to some degree."
"Do you fear death?"
Strange eyed the man's chilly gaze, narrowing his own. "No."
"You said everyone."
"Do not use my words against me," Strange snapped. "I am asking you. Why do you not fear death?"
Jonathan's expression failed to shift. "I was told that death is just another stage we all must face. The only reason death is feared is because of the unknown associated with it. It is not death itself that is feared; it is xenophobia that rules the opinions of most on the matter."
"I see. Then, you do not fear the unknown. Could I ask why?"
The Scarecrow stared before averting his gaze, otherwise silent.
Strange watched him with much interest. "Your great grandmother is to blame for purging most of your fears, is she not?"
Jonathan immediately felt a frisson of unease pass over him, but did not speak word, nor did he lift his eyes.
"I read on your file that she locked you in an abandoned chapel to fend for yourself against a murder of crows. She lied to you, dousing you in "holy water", and proceeded to lock you in that church. She claimed that the birds were cleansing you of your.. demonic thoughts. An extreme practice of exorcism, I would assume."
"Stop talking about her."
"I don't think I will. You see, she is the main reason why you do not fear much of anything today. I believe you need to hear it, if I am to approach a more.. fragile part of your psyche."
"I don't want to hear it," Crane snapped.
"Precisely why I am telling it to you. Your doctors back in the asylum never did get to thoroughly talk to you about your childhood. If I recall correctly, the last doctor to have tried to was found hanging in their office.. I believe that was a few months before you were assigned to be under Doctor Murphy's care? He claimed he was not afraid to treat you. But he never did get to bring up your childhood before you ended him with a psychotic breakdown, did he?"
"They all deserved what became of them."
"And what of Doctor Kellerman? I heard that you two got along just fine.. He divorced his wife in-between his sessions with you."
"Leave Stephen out of this," Crane scoffed.
"Stephen?" the older man drawled.
Jonathan looked the man up and down in scrutiny. "I would prefer for you to not keep analyzing my word choice."
"But it is interesting how you address certain people by their first name, as opposed to your usually formal nature."
"Doctor Kellerman," he enunciated, "and I knew each other for a long time. Of course I would use his first name. Stop steering my intentions from what they are."
"And what exactly was I steering your intention to, I wonder?" the older man questioned.
Crane glowered from the drawn out tone. "You are really starting to irritate me," he hissed.
"This could have been simple, if you just answered my original question," Strange paced, examining the blind eye as he played with the scalpel. "You said that you do not fear anything.. But if that is true, then what was bothering you when I injected you with your formula? You did not seem quite as fearless as you claim to be then."
Jonathan looked away, searching for a retaliation. "That would be stupid of me to tell you, wouldn't it?"
"Then you do fear something?"
He glared down at the tile from the smile he heard in the man's voice, but he did not dare look at him. "Stop interrogating me," he hissed quietly.
"How will I ever know your fear, then?" Strange watched the unwilling rogue, a smirk forming as he leaned down. "Something was trying to attack you."
The rogue shut his eyes tight. "Stop it."
"No matter how much you dodged, you could not escape it. I would not doubt that its premise is, in fact, your childhood. But I cannot bring myself to any conclusions just yet." His free hand slipped into his pocket..
Jonathan opened his eyes briefly from the silence, catching the shine of the needle. He immediately cried out from the lunge, turning his head away.
Strange paused to observe the reaction, laughing in amusement.
Crane swallowed, his gaze shaking as he breathed irregularly, enduring the laughter with a wince from the point caressing his carotid artery. "Don't," he could not stop himself from saying.
Hugo smiled pleasantly. "Don't what? Do not let you experience what you make so many others experience? You do realize that this is how you make all of your victims feel, don't you?" he pressed down.
Jonathan let out a quiet whimper, lips parted as he panted, eyes opening once again. He glanced towards the man, his jugular shifting against the needle. "You bastard," his breath shuddered.
"You brought this upon yourself," the older man sneered.
"Brought what upon whom?" a snarky voice piped up.
Strange froze from the intruder in his pocket, pausing to bring the communicator out in the open. "Edward," he addressed. "I did not expect you to have destroyed your own base just for a trap for my Tyger guards."
"Well, one must do what one must do."
"How did they track you, I wonder? Did they come across your broadcast coordinates?"
"Not necessarily. I suppose they caught word of Cash's communications with his men, the fool."
"Excuse me?"
"I had a run in with our friendly, neighborhood vigilante not too long ago. I admit, he caught me off guard. But I heard that he is going after you now."
"Really." Strange sneered. "I doubt he will succeed. I wonder, where could you have gone without my surveillance catching you?"
"That is for me to know, and for you to never find out, Hugo." Two gunshots echoed in the background, along with a roar of a crowd, and the Riddler scoffed from the noise. "Sorry. Got to go. Good luck with Batman," he teased.
"I do not need luck," Hugo cut the broadcast, immediately dismantling the device so it was rendered useless, discarding it on the tray. When he looked back at the bonded rogue, he stood still.
The Scarecrow was watching intently with his cold gaze, such a haunting stare that the older man had to glance away for a few moments.
Strange fidgeted with the needle before returning it to the man's neck, but he received a response that he was not prepared for.
No response.
Hugo furrowed his brow.
"Would you ever reconsider my offer?"
"Why would I do that when I can simply watch you squirm and then dump your body in the sewers?"
"Because you will never find Edward then."
"You seem to highly doubt my Tyger guards," the older man argued.
"I do highly doubt them. They could not even find the trapdoor."
Strange lifted an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"
"That base that your guards were killed in? That was my old base. I used it for purely import from Ace Chemicals. I suppose it aided Edward well."
Strange nibbled on his lip. "Did you two share any other bases in the area?"
"No," Jonathan purred. "But I see no reason to tell you where I think he went."
"I have a needle at your neck," the older man snapped.
"You were going to reject me regardless." The Scarecrow narrowed his eyes. "My offer still stands. It is practically one-sided of a deal."
"Which I find most suspicious."
"Well, I might want you to throw a few test subjects in the mix."
"Test subjects would not be a problem. I just wish to understand why you wish to help me. Edward is an acquaintance, is he not? Something more?"
"That should not be any of your concern."
"But it is," Strange narrowed his gaze, the needle not faltering. "How do I know you will not turn on me and help Edward instead? What if this is a trick?"
"So distrusting." Jonathan tilted his head away from the needle. "Should I say my vows?"
"Amusing," Hugo hissed. "I do not like the idea of you running around my facility."
"How will we ever establish trust if you do not give me any?"
"Easily," Hugo quickly spoke. "I will give you my trust.. if you can do one thing."
"And what thing is that?"
"Fight me."
"Fight you?" Crane furrowed his brow slightly. "How vague."
"Fight me with no weapons to aid you. No toxin, no tools.. And if you win, consider your offer taken."
"And if you win?"
Strange put down the syringe. "Well, you will just have to cope with a more.. involved session."
"Involved session?" Crane echoed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"If you want to find out, make sure to give up quickly."
"I am not planning to," Jonathan held his head up as the older man started to unstrap his right ankle.
He swallowed from the gloved hands moving to his waist, looking down to his slim hips before lifting his eyes to the man who went for his left wrist, touching ground with a quiet grunt. "You are foolish for thinking that you can take advantage of my injured leg," he commented.
Strange paused to smirk. "I think you will do just fine. I have no problem with going easy on you."
As soon as his left wrist was free, he whacked the man upside the head.
The older man sneered from the attack, having gripped the arm. "You are not even completely mobile yet," he hissed. "Do not be stupid."
"You are not untying me fast enough," he teased.
"If you want my trust, then fight fairly," he lectured.
"If I must."
Strange watched the man with caution as he released the wrist, needing to use both hands to unstrap the remaining limb. "I mean it," he warned. "I am not giving you any second chances."
Jonathan stayed against the metal for support, his left leg troubling him already. "I don't need any second chances." He exhaled from the strain the injured limb caused, shutting his eyes.
"You should not take so long to start a fight." Strange gave the rogue space, pushing the cart away as he stepped back. "It is dangerous."
"You are not striking yet either, are you?" Jonathan opened his cold eyes. "Go on.. Strike me."
"That is not how I do things," Strange adjusted his collar, loosening it by popping the top button. "Perhaps you should try something first."
"I do not like striking first either."
"Then we may have a problem," Strange eyed the man as he stepped. "But I will start it, if you insist.. Do expect this to be quick."
"I will," the Scarecrow dodged the hand that smacked into the metal, twisting around the body and shoving him into the surface, projecting himself away.
Hugo grunted from the collision with the torture table, straightening to fix his spectacles, turning to the man with a pout. "Do not act like a coward."
"I am not." Jonathan backed away, leg stopping him from smoothly retreating. "I am just watching you make a fool of yourself."
Strange sneered in mockery, and once close enough, he growled as he lashed out.
The Scarecrow maneuvered his upper body around the punch, dodging the attempts one after another. "Who the hell trained you‽" he spat, immediately recognizing the fighting style.
"Someone far more prevailing than you will ever be," Strange retorted, stopping to dive.
The rogue immediately snapped back, bumping into the desk with a grunt. "Ah!" he glared as the man hooked his arm under his bad leg. "Don't you dare-!" he was cut off from being lifted in the air, then slammed back down onto the top of the desk, scattering the files. "That's not fair-!" he gasped, eyes wide from the shock of pain shooting up his thigh.
"I never said it was fair," Strange buried his fingers against the leg, crushing the limb in his grasp as he let out a laugh from the squirming. "I hope that hurts."
Jonathan fought the urge to express his agony, shutting his throat as he reached up, swiping the man's glasses before he twisted his body, doing a number on his limb, but managed to hook his arm around the back of the older man's neck.
Strange grunted as he went down against the man, making sure to keep a strong hold on the leg, his face smushed against the burlap.
Jonathan used his little strength to flip them, the lamp knocked over. He slammed his arm down across the other's left hand, biting down from the weight put on his leg.
Hugo squeezed the limb in defense, but was focusing more on their positions, watching the man above him pant. "Get off of me," he half-heartedly demanded.
"Then let go of me," the Scarecrow snapped.
"No," Strange narrowed his gaze. "If that is what keeps you from being able to win, then I must use it to my advantage."
Jonathan blinked, shifting his eyes. "How exactly do either of us win? Is this a mercy game? Must I leave you unconscious?"
"Whichever one comes first." Hugo watched carefully before tugging on the leg, applying pressure.
The Scarecrow hissed, shutting his eyes, releasing the spectacles to grip the man's throat. "I am not afraid to kill you," he snapped, gritting his teeth through the pain.
Strange held on until his head grew light, emitting a choke.
The Scarecrow waited with a most malicious twinkle in his eye, mouth twitching in a smile. The man beneath him was squirming. He dug his nails into the flesh, gaze narrowing cruelly.
Strange tightened his grasp as well, glaring back at the man, but he knew that he was losing. The older man twisted himself under the body, pulling the injured leg, but the rogue above him failed to wince.
It must have been three minutes before Strange quickly let go of the limb to grip the wrist, prying the hand from his windpipe to gasp.
Crane sneered from the desperation. "Why, you poor, poor thing," he purred.
Hugo glared from the taunt, his breathing irregular as it shuddered. "Do try not to break my glasses," was his only concern.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "Don't break them? Why should I listen to you when you have already wasted two doses of my toxin? Do you even understand how difficult it is to gather the resources for it?"
"No. I do not make it," Strange twisted his arms around so he clutched the other's in the crooks of his elbows, lurching upward.
Crane lifted his head to avoid the headbutt, blinking. "Is your perception off, old man?" he teased.
Hugo grunted as he flipped them, glowering. "I am not old, by any means."
"You certainly look it," Jonathan went on despite the other's growl. "Did you prepare your will yet?"
Strange attempted to control his temper, but he knew that it was quickly slipping from his grip. "At least I do not sound like a woman," he spat.
The Scarecrow gasped, eyes burning. "I do not sound like a woman," he snarled.
"Perhaps not anymore," Strange rubbed in. "You might wish to thank Mister Jones for that."
Crane hissed, walloping the man's waist with his good leg.
Hugo clenched his teeth through the attacks, finally releasing him to push himself off the desk, unable to retrieve his spectacles without crossing paths with the man's surprisingly powerful kicks. "Get up," he ordered.
The Scarecrow twisted himself to swipe the glasses, holding them hostage as he glared at the man, sitting on the edge. "You could have just knocked me unconscious," he argued. "Why did you move away?"
"I did not want you to damage anything," Strange eyed the glasses, then the man's gaze again. "And what will you do with those?"
"Perhaps give them to Batman," he studied them. "He does like collecting things that remind him of his past successes, I heard."
This made the older man lose it, going after the rogue with a booming growl.
Crane immediately moved away from the desk, but the older man was advancing quickly. Jonathan found himself back against the restraints and metal, and he moved around it to put an obstacle between them, peeking around it with an almost enticing gaze.
Hugo narrowed his eyes, and immediately followed the man around the standing torture table. "You cannot keep evading forever," he hissed, grabbing the metal and discarding it past him.
It rolled into the wall, slightly retracting from the force.
"I can certainly try," Jonathan played with the frames, only to slip them onto his nose, pulling them down to look over the rims at the man in sheer mockery. "You certainly seem quite angry over these. Are they an antique like you?"
Strange lashed forward with a hiss, able to snag the man's burlap before he fully dodged. "Get back here," he bellowed, and threw the man against the wall, holding him in place. "Who the hell do you think you are‽" he snapped, slamming the man against the surface once again.
"Doctor Jonathan Crane," he responded through his crushed face, "and apparently someone who can easily make Hugo Strange lose his temper."
"Apparently so," the older man frowned. "But not for long."
Jonathan blinked, face void of expression. "When I do win our little battle, what then? Your anger will suddenly dissipate for me? I highly doubt that. How would we ever establish a partnership?"
"Do not speak with such arrogance," Strange snapped. "It will be your downfall."
"I beg to differ."
Strange seemed to contemplate before he fell back on repetitive tactics, pressing his forearm against the man's neck as he attacked the leg.
"Ngh!" the Scarecrow gripped the arm that was cutting off his trachea. He shook from the pain wracking him, but he did not dare let go of the arm. "If you think that is going to help you," he cut himself off with a cry, shutting his eyes, "then you must be stupid!"
"How far must I go before I can make the Scarecrow beg?" the older man ignored the insult.
Jonathan squinted, prying at the arm, only letting out a quiet gag.
"It should not be that hard, anyway. Quite a few people have been able to make you beg, haven't they?" He laughed from the glare and squirm, holding tighter. "In a more intimate setting, that is?"
Crane swallowed hard against the sleeve, emitting a strangled hiss. "Stop bringing that up," he coughed, eyes widening as the man pressed against him in an extremely violating way. But instead of exclaiming his anxiety like Strange thought he would, the rogue simply spoke, "you are a very sick man."
The professor had to smile. "I suppose you could argue that. But it is you who are sick."
Jonathan struggled against the body, glowering.
"You dedicate every waking moment of your life to exploiting fears, wringing your brain dry until you finally collapse. You fixate yourself on something that requires an endless amount of experiments, and for what? What could you possibly hope to accomplish before your death‽ Terrorize as many victims as you can‽ What the hell is your purpose‽"
Jonathan panted against the body. "You are insane!" he struggled.
"No, I am not," Hugo snapped. "I only try to understand those around me."
"Do you choke them as well?" he gasped.
Strange sneered. "Just you," he cooed before crushing the man's throat completely.
The Scarecrow bit down, body jerking to retrieve air, but he was denied.
Hugo pressed on, watching the man's subtle reactions under his vice-like grip. "Give up," he hissed.
Jonathan opened his mouth, eyes so tight he thought his lids would rip until his body went slack.
Strange leaned close, finally releasing the throat with a smirk. "Pathetic." He pressed his fingers to the man's pulse in his neck, feeling it begin to slow. He studied the man's eyelids before drawing away, hauling the body up to step towards the torture table. He placed him against the metal once again, going for the strap.
Jonathan opened his eyes, whipping their positions around to work quickly, snagging the man's wrist to secure him.
Strange hissed in frustration, immediately going for the bond, but the rogue fought him, and had managed to snag him.
"I win," the Scarecrow purred.
Hugo swallowed, but did not glower. "I must say, you are quite the actor."
"Hmn.." He removed the glasses to slip them onto the bonded man's nose, adjusting them before he lowered his hands.
Strange shifted. "What are you doing?"
Crane smirked up at the man as he strapped the waist down. "Oh, nothing," he batted his lashes twice, leaving the man's legs free. He turned his back to him to limp to the tray, delicately picking up the formula.
Strange blinked from the sparkle of the needle. "You already won," he pointed out. "If you inject me with that, you will be betraying me already!"
"Why should I care?" Jonathan tilted his head. "You injected me; I think it is only fair."
"Because if you harm me," Strange started, "my Master will be very displeased with you."
"Your Master?" Crane showed no intention of backing down, stepping towards him. He lifted his eyes from the body to capture his gaze. "Who is that, might I ask?"
Hugo lifted his head as the rogue approached him, silent as he looked upon him with a deep breath.
Jonathan observed him with his left eye, coming close. "Don't be shy," he cooed.
"I am not. You just have no business knowing."
"You threatened me with him."
"It does not give you the right to know," the older man snapped.
Jonathan almost smirked. "So it is a him?"
"I did not say that."
"You did not say otherwise," Jonathan purred.
"You are not the only trained psychiatrist around here," Strange argued. "And unlike you, I am still licensed. Don't think that you can trick me."
Jonathan played with the identification tag on the man's coat. "Of course… What was I thinking?" He turned the card over to absentmindedly eye the small print of regulations. "No one can ever trick the infamous Doctor Hugo Strange," he drawled, head tilting.
"Hmn.." The older man's stiff gaze shifted over the rogue. "You cannot flatter your way to an answer from me. But feel free to keep going."
"Please, you'll make me swoon," the Scarecrow sarcastically cooed, running his slim fingers up the white coat, reaching the collar to pull it down, needle lingering close to the exposed neck. "I wonder how a man that's been missing for years can suddenly reemerge in Gotham City with such power," he spoke. "It is unheard of, unless.. you have connections, of course.."
"I do," Strange observed the man's blank expression, attempting to read it. "How else does one rise in power?"
"Then these connections… Did this same man teach you how to fight? Did he test your loyalty? Perhaps trained you out of country… promised you wealth and power beyond your imagination?"
Hugo kept his mouth shut, narrowing his eyes.
"Did he offer endless time to rule?" Jonathan finally made eye contact.
"How do you know that?" the older man only asked.
Crane only snickered, smiling pleasantly. "That is none of your business," he purred.
Strange glared. "Tell me," he hissed. "I demand it."
"On one condition," Jonathan echoed the man.
The older man blinked from the twist, frustration hitting hard.
"I want what I offered," he spoke softly. "I want to work with you."
"Why the hell would you want to work with me, after all I have done to you?" Strange reiterated.
"The past is in the past," Jonathan mentioned, "and I want what you have."
"How do I know you will not just betray me?"
"I suppose you will have to find out whether I am lying or not," Jonathan watched the man's eyes behind the spectacles. "After all, I need resources and a guaranteed base of operations.. and I think you're just the man I need."
Hugo breathed deeply, not speaking a word.
The Scarecrow studied carefully. "I don't think you understand what benefits I could provide."
"I admit I do not."
"Well, besides luring Edward to you..." he lowered the needle to trace it over his own veins in his wrist, "I can lure Batman to you as well."
The gears turned in the older man's head as he watched the rogue fidget with an almost innocent hesitation.
"I know you want to see him," he cooed, "and I know that Ra's doesn't want that…"
At this point, Strange already found himself turning. "Tell me how you know about him," he pressed.
"Fine.. what's fair is fair," Jonathan accepted. "Ra's offered me the same he did you." The Scarecrow seemed to falter. "And I found myself abandoned by him." He furrowed his brow. "He only wanted Batman to be his successor.. He used me.. to get to him."
Strange blinked. "Did you fail him?"
"No," Crane glared, "he just found me used up as a resource, and cast me aside. That delusional man abandoned me for some vigilante that does not even want the throne to his little assassin cult!"
"That cannot be true," Hugo fought. "He has shown no interest in the Batman. He avoids the subject completely."
"Believe me, Hugo, I have lived through this before," the rogue breathed. "He trains you.. treats you as one of his own… he proposes a partnership, puts you in a position of great power, with endless funds.. and once you give him what he wants.." Jonathan's voice grew cold. "He discards you, as simple as that. I can promise you, Doctor Strange; he has been planning your disposal ever since you first crossed paths with him."
Strange's expression seemed to weaken, his eyes looking for a loophole. "You are trying to trick me," he accused. "You must be."
"I suppose there is only one way for you to find out." Jonathan ran his fingers through his curls. "And I don't think you really want to find out, do you?" Jonathan eyed the straps that held the man captive before locking their gaze. "You are afraid of what I say is true."
Strange did not deny it. "If it were to be true, then how could I prevent it? Ra's is providing everything I need to run Arkham City; I cannot simply throw away our partnership!"
"No, you don't have to," Jonathan smiled. "Keep working for him."
Strange furrowed his brow. "But you just said-"
"Keep working for him," he repeated, holding up a skeletal finger. "Don't let him suspect anything has changed between you two.. and while Ra's thinks you are still on his terms, we will plot against him." Jonathan leaned. "We will take over his silly cult, destroy everything he has worked to build.. take his Lazarus Pit from underneath him.." He was inches from the man. "And you and I will rule Gotham as his body rots underground.. where you can have Batman all to yourself."
Strange's breath hitched in want. The offer was almost too perfect… he felt himself grow dizzy.
"All you have to do is listen to me." Jonathan cupped the man's cheek, fingers caressing the chinstrap as his cold gaze searched. "Listen to what I advise, and I promise you everything Ra's provides for you and much more…"
Strange felt a shudder of ecstasy wash over him. "You will still let me continue my studies? Pursue the Batman?"
"Whatever you want," Jonathan cooed.
Strange faked contemplation, already knowing he was won over. "..Then stop teasing me and let me down so we may begin."
The Scarecrow leered at the older man, gaining one in return.