He blinked.
And for the first time - the first time in...in...how long had it been? Years? Months? Weeks, even? He didn't know. But for the first time in what had felt like forever, the scarecrow wasn't waiting for him.
He didn't know why. Had it just left? Why would it leave? Or was it waiting, waiting for him, giving him false hope only to push him back into the coma? Either way, he wanted to know.
Jonathan Crane was an inherently curious boy. His mother said he got it from his father. His father - what had happened to his father? Why hadn't he been by the hospital bed? Or maybe he was there and Jonathan had just been preoccupied. He didn't know. Another thing he wanted to find out.
He tried to push himself up, but he couldn't. His muscles weak from convulsing, he guessed. Convulsing. Pain. Fear. No. No, no, no...not again...
A flash of something bright, harsh - no. Its eyes like the pits of hell stared back at him. His breathing got ragged. He knew what was coming, the onslaught of pain, terror, pain, terror, and so on...
But then it stopped.
The scarecrow...just disappeared. Out of thin air. Huh.
This was certainly a new development. What if...what if he was finally trying to heal himself?
Was it possible?
Filled with new hope, he tried to say something, anything, but his throat was raw and ragged from endless screaming. Well, that was one more thing he couldn't do.
Stupid scarecrow. Stupid...
He felt a lump in his throat like he wanted to cry, but no tears came out. He figured that would happen. Why had Dad done this to him? His own son, of all people? He had known his father was a little on the tipsy side for a while now, but he never thought he'd force his own son to endure this...this hell...
A nurse pushed her way through the doors, thank god. She had a large stack of papers in one hand and was balancing a styrofoam cup of something steaming that he assumed was coffee in the other. He vaguely recognized her. Brown hair, brown eyes...he didn't know her name. He probably had been...preoccupied.
He'd had various nurses, some of which he hated and others he liked. What's-her-face was one of his favorites. She was in his room the most often out of all the nurses. She'd just...watch him, sometimes. He liked the company.
Sometimes she'd cry when she watched him. He did not like that.
"Hello?" he tried to say. He didn't hear his voice echo back. What did his voice even sound like anymore? He wasn't sure he'd recognize it if he could speak.
The nurse set the cup of coffee down on a small table, pulling out a chair in the small room (more like a large hallway) that connected to his. He could see through the glass barrier. They either knew this and ignored this, or the company they got the barrier from made a mistake.
She glanced at him. She did a double take when she noticed him smiling at her. God, it hurt to smile. He felt like his face wasn't meant to move that way. Well, he'd smiled before, many times, it just felt so out of place now...
"Jonathan?" she asked hesitantly.
He nodded. Again, it felt like his head wasn't meant to move in that way, but he pushed that thought to the back of his head.
"Are - are you okay? Can I get you anything? Can you talk? Can you move?" She lept up from her chair and threw open the door to his room.
He was getting used to smiling now. It used to be a reflex. He was working on it now.
He flexed his fingers. They worked. If only his voice did. Maybe...? He tried moving his wrists. Hmm...they all worked. Just a little sore. He pointed to the steaming cup sitting on the table.
"You want coffee? Be my guest." She brought the cup over to him. She walked over to the sink in his room to add some water to cool it off, but she apparently changed her mind. "Actually, coffee's probably not the best thing for you." She refilled the glass with water.
He smiled; this was what he had been getting at. He took the cup and drank the water.
Now that felt weird. When was the last time he had drank water?
"Hi..." GOD, that cracked more than a teenage boy's voice. Well, he was a teenage boy...not the point.
She grinned slightly. "Hi, Jonathan. I'm...I'm glad to see you're feeling better. I'd imagine...you've got some questions," she said softly.
"Yeah. First and foremost, where's...where's Dad?" Slightly less creaky.
She winced. Oh. Had he been put in Arkham? "Jonathan...oh, my poor baby...your father passed away."
"What?" What?
"He...he had a gun, he was firing on the police officers..." He told him to run. But he didn't. Why didn't he?
"Oh."
She nodded, looking awkward. He supposed he had put her in an awkward situation, after all.
"How long have...have I been like this?" he asked.
"Three months," she said. Three months. It felt longer.
"Can I go home-" He caught himelf. Did he have a home, now? Mom died six years ago. Dad...well, Dad was dead too. It hit him.
I'm an orphan, he thought.
The nurse smiled thinly, so tight she barely was smiling at all. "Foster care starts when you're rested and healthy."
Foster care? Oh, god, he didn't want foster care...he wanted home...Mom...Dad...but some things you just couldn't have.
"Oh."
She looked like she was hesitating. "Jonathan..." she bit her lip. "Do you have any other relatives? Detective Gordon didn't find any - Detective Gordon being the one investigating the phobic murders and your dad - so the social workers took it from there, they put you in foster care. But - um...I know this is sudden, but...do you want to stay at my apartment? For a little while, at least?"
He smiled. That would probably be the best offer he would get. "Actually, yeah. I'd like that."
She smiled back at him, and turned away. She seemed like she was wiping her eyes. "Thank god, just...I mean, the doctors didn't think you'd live, and just now..."
"Well, my dad always said I was too special to die." He meant it as a joke. The nurse thought it as a joke, though clearly she was concerned for him after he said it. His father was a lunatic, he knew. But he was still family.
"My name is Jordan Wright," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He noticed he wasn't in his normal clothes. A hospital gown. Awkward.
"I think you know me..."
"Yeah. In a few days, you'll be all set to release. In the meantime, I have some paperwork to do." She got up, and for the first time, Jonathan felt like he actually knew a good person in his life. Well, anyone was a saint compared to the...thing his dad had become over the last six years.
He was fourteen now. He was eight when it happened. Memories faded. He didn't remember the sound of his mother's voice anymore. It made him sad sometimes, but other times it was like she was a different person all together, someone like a distant aunt that he knew but didn't remember too well. He hadn't been affected as much as his father had. And for a while, he respected that, and knew his father was going through hard times. But then Dad started acting...disturbing.
Hopefully, he could put all that behind him. Hopefully, he'd have a shot a new life.