Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Begins. Nor do I own Red Eye. So fuck off, and don't sue me. Please.
Jackson bent down, inspecting Jonathan carefully as he lay, curled into a ball in the corner of the room they shared. Jonathan was a bruised and bloody mess, shard of glass sticking out of the skin of his arm. Jackson cringed at the sight of his baby brother, hurting so badly. He placed a comforting hand on Jonathan's shoulder, hoping to make him feel better. This resulted in a sharp tremor from the bleeding boy and cry of pain from his throat. Jackson coughed, holding back tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.
"You okay, Crow?" he whispered shakily, gulping down the lump in his throat. He knew that Jonathan wasn't okay, but he needed some reassurance. He needed to know that his best friend would live, that his injuries were not fatal.
"Jackson.." the word was barely audible as Jonathan spoke softly, a smile appearing on his face as he realized who was next to him. "Jack..."
Jackson leaned forward to help Jonathan into a sitting position. He took Jon into his arms gently and held him, careful not to reopen wounds or touch bruises, the works. Jackson sat there and held him, stroking Jonathan's hair. "It's me, Jon. It's me. I'm here. I'm back. I came back." Jackson stated hurriedly while pulling the shards out of his arm. It wasn't the most sanitary thing but Jackson didn't exactly have a medical education. He was only in his junior year of high school, after all.
Jonathan's hands found Jackson's arms where he gripped as tight as his weakened hands would allow him. His hands, covered in cuts from the glass ached as he held onto his brother for dear life. "Jackson... Please, help me.. The blood... I... The blood..." he shivered, closing his eyes at the sight of the red liquid that painted the majority of his body.
Jackson had to chuckle. "Getting queasy at the sight of a little blood, Ichabod?" he asked, getting up and getting rubbing alcohol and a large quantity of rags. "Here you go, Jon." Jackson said and doused a rag in rubbing alcohol. He took Jonathan's hand and spread his arm out so he could clean it properly. He took the rest of the glass shards out and gently cleaned his wounds. "What happened, Crow?"
"I... I came home late... and... father... he... he..." Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut at the sting of the rubbing alcohol. He felt the weight of the memories on his chest and he tried to breathe, shooing them away from his mind. He tried to focus on Jackson so he wouldn't completely lose it then. But he couldn't. He couldn't take his mind off the pain, he couldn't focus on anything but his face. His father's face burned in his mind and he squeezed his eyes tighter to get rid of the image.
Jackson stared at him strangely, trying to see what he was doing. He finished up both of Jonathan's arms. That seemed to be where his only cuts were. Bruises covered his entire body but the cuts were only on his arms. Jackson stopped and put his hand on Jonathan's shoulder again. "Just... Let's get you into bed for now, alright, Ichabod?" Jackson whispered as he wrapped Jonathan's fragile arms in the excess rags. "Can't have you being all active and ruining my hard work." he smirked and picked Jonathan up bridal style.
Jonathan was no longer responsive. His eyes were still squeezed shut as tight as he could. He vaguely felt Jackson pick him up and lay him on his lumpy, uncomfortable bed. As soon as he felt the coolness of the sheets, he clung to the collar of his brother's shirt. "Wait... Clothes... Unsanitary... Pajamas, Jack... Pajamas..." Jonathan mumbled.
Jackson rolled his eyes at Jonathan, always worrying about the little things. He'd tried to tell Jonathan to stop sweating that kind of stuff, but Jonathan wouldn't listen. No wonder. "Alright, Jonathan. I'll get you some pajamas." he said and got out a pair of flannel pajama pants and a ratty old t-shirt. Jackson gently wriggled Jonathan out of his shirt. He stared in angry amazement at the nasty, purple coloring that was all over his chest and back. "Jonathan... I... I'm sorry I wasn't here to make him stop... Together we could have... Stopped him..."
Jonathan relaxed his eyelids and opened one lazily at him. "Shut... Up..." he breathed out, barely able to catch his breath from the little exertion.
Jackson rolled his eyes and slid off Jonathan's pants, less than gently that time. Jonathan winced and Jackson mumbled an apology. "Sorry, bud." he said while sliding the flannel over his skinny, pale legs. Once the pants were secure around his hips, though they would hang loosely if Jonathan were standing up, Jack sat Jon up and put on his shirt. After dressing him for bed and making sure he was comfortable enough with his injuries, Jackson tucked Jonathan into the covers tightly and left him to rest.
Jackson, troubled by Jonathan's state walked around the room, inspecting the blood that led a trail from the door to the corner Jonathan was in when he had found him. He bent down and picked up Jonathan's glasses that were strewn carelessly around the floor. They were broken in half and the Crane family had no money to repair them. Jonathan would have to make do with tape in the middle to piece the pair back together. Though he'd most likely get hell at school for it. Though, maybe not until Jackson was sent away again. The entire school knew who Jackson was and since Jonathan was his little brother, everyone knew who Jonathan was. And Jonathan was only messed with when Jackson wasn't around. Everyone was terrified of Jack. Jack the Ripper.
Jack the Ripper. That was his nickname. Behind his back, everyone called him Jack the Ripper. Behind his back, they talked in hushed whispers, fearful that he had heard them, even when he was nowhere to be seen. A legend of somewhat, like Big Foot or the Boogeyman. But Jack was real. He was real and he was never really gone. Not really.
He set Jonathan's glasses on his bedside table and climbed into his own bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes and into his pajamas. He knew Jonathan would lecture him in the morning about that. Honestly, he looked forward to it. It was a sign of normalcy, of something familiar. Jonathan would be fine in the morning. Everything would be back to normal. Jackson was out of that detention center, Jonathan would be protected, and school would be... school. But normalcy, that's what they both needed. And they needed to find that normalcy in each other.
Jonathan was almost paralyzed as he slept, unmoving and silent, the only sound coming from him were his light, even breaths. His face did scrunch up every few minutes as he dreamed. His dreams were where he was able to talk to Scarecrow.
"Scarecrow! Scarecrow! It's Jonathan! I'm here!" Jonathan called in his dream world. He searched the place where they usually met in his dream. It was a room, oval in shape, and it had nothing except for two chairs in the middle of the room. Jonathan didn't know how he was able to search but it didn't bother him so much then. It was his dream after all.
"I'm here, Jonny. I'm always here." he snarled, his voice snarky. "You're late."
Scarecrow's voice always reminded him somewhat of Jackson. Though Jackson always had a sort of softness to his voice, when he was talking to Jonathan anyway. Scarecrow was just rough and it was hard to tell if he was serious or joking. Jackson always was clear when he was clear and his tone could change. Scarecrow had very few emotions. They usually ranged from neutral to angry, though these differed from occasion to occasion.
"Sorry, Scarecrow. Jackson was here. And you're even later than me." Jonathan pointed out, sitting down in his usual chair.
"Jackson, huh? And you didn't want to leave him?" he said in a mocking tone. "Why don't you just curl up in bed with him so you can fuck? Jackson! What's so special about him that you had to miss time with me?" Scarecrow was angry now.
"He's my brother..." Jonathan answered, shrinking in his chair at Scarecrow's increasing anger towards him. Scarecrow never liked Jackson. He was jealous. He was always jealous.
"Brother? Oh, he's your brother. I'm your only friend! I'm your best friend!" Scarecrow yelled, getting up in his face. "Fuck Jackson! F I could, I would have killed him by now!"
"You wouldn't! Jackson's my brother! He's mine!" Jonathan yelled protectively.
"When I get out of here-" he gestured to the room that symbolized the confines Jonathan kept him in. "He better watch out. He'll get what's coming to him. The great brute, messing with the Scarecrow! I'll kill him."
Jonathan didn't have time to respond before he was awoken from his sleep by his blaring alarm clock. It was his duty to protect Jackson from Scarecrow. Jonathan almost laughed. Usually, it was big bad Jackson protecting him. But now, the tables were turned.