Story type: one-shot
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Batman
Length: 1173 words
There was only him and the wooden beam.
No, there was nothing but a safe, rough surface against the skin of his bare feet.
There was no gaping abyss beneath him, no ancient, unsound constructions and no childhood memory. The latter lay buried in the fields.
But most of all, there was no gnawing feeling of anxiety and restlessness, no Fear.
Poising steadily on top of a protrudent roof joist of a weather affected barn, Jonathan Crane felt absolute peace.
Indeed he remembered the hours he had been forced to spend here with dusty labour as a child. He would pull countless bails of dried cornstalks up with the simple hoist construction carried by the wooden bar, storing them in the old hayloft. All the same he had not forgotten the cruelty he had endured at this place, bred by an aged, wicked witch.
It was his past, nothing worth thinking of. Presently, the persistent Georgia sun was burning the skin on his bare chest. He scorned the increasing redness – the city of rain and darkness had weakened his once so hardened body, it seemed. Still, he was used to the oppressive heat that cloaked him like a a shield and fogged his mind. He welcomed it as a long-lost friend.
Spreading his arms in mimic of wings, he closed his eyes, curious about what sensation it would bring. But no wind caressed his scrawny yet muscular body, roughed his hair up, and so he opened his lids again as he felt his balance slip away. An image of an awkward, unconfident little boy clinging to the piece of wood representing a makeshift handrail beneath his position flashed up in his head. Now and then the poor creature would turn his head to the distant mansion which towered beyond the field in all its ominous glory, right next to the damned bird house. Jonathan smiled at the memory.
If there was one thing his childhood had taught him, it was the means to become stronger. As hard a lesson as it had been, looking back, he was certain it had been an essential one.
A sudden urge to dare his abilities tingled in every fibre of his body. He raised his right knee, his toes pointing straight to the spiky, barren grass floor lying several metres underneath him, simultaneously lifting his arms to the sky to keep his balance. Then he took a large step forward to the end of the beam, turned his upper body and pulled the left foot behind in a fluent movement. Without stopping or even caring about the possible risk, he let himself fall in the same direction, going limp like a sack of potatoes, and caught himself at the last second before hitting the sharp-edged tiles of the steep roof.
All muscles stretched, he lifted his lower body with the mere power of his arms, throwing his legs once around his center in an expansive circle to perform a skillful kick. Instead of allowing his tensed arms a rest, he pushed his weight up once again. For a split-second he adopted the pose of a handstand, but shortly after he flung his body further up, making a spiraling movement to turn in mid-air, and landed shakily yet safely on his feet.
Pantingly Jonathan stood there, single drops of sweat glinting on his skin, and he felt strong. But when a powerful wind gust finally hit his face with all the day's heat, it made him feel alive and he found himself caught up in a sensual frenzy.
He began his daring endeavour anew, performing a strange act of pushing something and backing away in the opposite direction at the same time.
Soon he stroke the air again with pointed hands, fighting an invisible enemy. His jumps, twists and never-halting steps across the roof seemed like dancing - violent dancing - sometimes graceful, sometimes like a drunken man, but always deadly.
Another spinning kick with his heel shattered the remains of an old ladder, and the satisfying sound of bursting wood eventually caused a feeling of elation! He did not need the protection of the mask now, nor the chemicals, the scythe or any other implement. This moment was his, and this knowledge enabled a freedom he had never experienced before.
One last time he took a run-up on the roof, preparing a complex series of dodging moves and quick punches, but - oh, how badly he had neglected his training! - his foot skidded down the tile right in the moment of jump.
The brief reaction time during which Jonathan seemed to float in the air was not enough for the shock to affect his thinking. Was this the end? The question softly touched his mind, and to his surprise he felt no remorse. However, these seconds passed soon and when he hit the tiles, his hands reflexively reached for any kind of support, not bothering the sharp edges.
He slid down the roof until a violent strain rocked his body as he caught hold of the misplaced roof gutter. He remained swinging to and fro for a while, his heart pounding heavily. Not until his sluggish mind retrieved contact with reality he dared moving again and rose his gaze to the shadowy silhouette that had been covering the merciless sun for quite a while now.
"Come on, Crane," Batman said, reaching out to him, "it is time to go back."
A big part of the Bat's face was covered by his black cowl, and it hid his emotions well. Yet he doubtlessly looked thoughtful, even though saying 'impressed' was probably too much. How long had he been watching?
Something flashed up in Crane's eyes, and he suddenly let go of the roof's edge.
Immediately, Batman chased the falling villain, knowing that he would not be able to catch him in time. But when he landed on the dusty ground, dry blades of grass rustling under his heavy boots, he found the villain sitting safe and sound in a big heap of fawn hay.
Not bad for a man at my age, huh? Jonathan laughed briefly and gave him an amused look before his lips stretched to his usual smirk.
"Just wanted to see your face," he said and struggled to get out of the haystack, a few stalks still poking out of his hair. The only reaction the Bat showed was giving him an odd gaze, and since Crane had not brought anything to defend himself to this private place, he simply followed his perennial adversary to the curious, bat-shaped jet without resistance.
Noiselessly he kept chuckling to himself. Strangely enough, Crane left the place with the feeling of being a new man. He would certainly not forgo his identity as the the Master of Fear, not yet! Instead, the incident had taught him so much more than just resuming his martial art training - and next time the Scarecrow hit the city of Gotham, it would be more powerful than ever.