Here is a litte ditty. Enjoy it. It's the beginning of love, deceit, and endings. We don't own anything. Except Harry. He's all ours. The sexy beast. This is going to be slashy themed, and then, develop soon (be patient, children), into blatent Bruce on Jonathan action. Cheers.
- Masked Men
Fear, Itself. Chapter 1. Under His Wing. The Night Gotham was Saved.
Jonathan Crane knew that he'd gone wrong somewhere down the line when he caught sight of Harry limping down the alleyway after him with a lead pipe. He stumbled clutching the remains of his singed mask, sobered by the shock emitted from Ms. Dawes' tazer. Spirited woman. He'd have to try harder next time. He ventured further into the darkness, when he felt a brick wall break his already fractured shoulder. The fall from the horse had been broken by his arm. He was at the end of the alleyway, at the mercy of an escaped mental patient. Harry limped towards him, stuttering, "Sc-scare-cro-crow...sc-care..", realizing that his tormenter was mortal...and the pipe may ease his tortured existence thus far. Crane sunk to the ground screaming and holding his shoulder, and whimpered, "Harry, breathe with me. HARRY. Remember our breathing excersises...in through the nose", he inhaled, "out through the mouth", he sighed. "Count to ten with me...everything's going to be okay, alright? I promise...I'll give you anything you want. I can do that. Just count with me. One, two, three...". The doctor closed his eyes and kept counting, Harry moving closer with every shaking breath. Jonathan made a mental note on the feckless counting and breathing excersises. They were...scientifically speaking...total bullshit. "Seven...". Harry raised the pipe on 'eight'. He tightened his grip on 'Nine'. A new voice from behind Harry counted with Crane, as Harry slipped to the cold pavement, unconscious. "Ten". Crane put his good arm down from his defensive position, clutching his shattered shoulder, wincing and then smiling gingerly at the towering figure. "Well. Isn't this ironic? So we meet again...Batman."
"Get up", the Dark Knight said flatly, trying hard not to kick the man smirking before him. "Now", he snarled, yanking him to his feet by his hair, and shirt. "Damn it...", Crane whined, "I'll press charges. I swear...I'll tell them you did this.", he said gesturing at his shoulder. "You've got no rights. You have no idea how deep you're in.", Bruce said gravely, annoyed and hopeful at the tourture Crane might endure through the legal system. THAT would be irony for him. He tugged him along with a tight grip on his neck, agitating the shoulder with every step. Crane saw the pipe laying a few feet ahead and got a terribly clever idea. He screamed a blood curdling yell, and fell to the ground writhing. Bruce let go, startled, and nervous that if Crane wasn't in one piece, Gordon would have him to blame. Crane convulsed, making gagging sounds, and choking, as if in a sort of epileptic fit. Bruce leaned over him, with a discarded cork in hand, as Crane's fingers groped around him. In one quick motion, he grabbed the hero's cape, wrapped his fingers around the pipe next to him, and brought it down on the compassionate vigilante's masked head. The black ceramic shattered around the skull, and Bruce gasped in suprise, and a bit of pain, though he hardly felt it. He damned himself for not demanding a new shipment of rubber masks. Crane caught sight of how the face was put together. He had not soon forgoten the lower half of the face, but now, saw that it belonged to Bruce Wayne. Prince of Gotham. He laughed, almost crying, with the pain that ripped through his body with every heave of his chest, but it would be impossible for Crane to supress his giggling. This was classic. This was priceless. It was the last person he'd expect, this pompous prettyboy billionare. Meanwhile, Bruce couldn't see the humour, as he whirled around clutching his face, and gasping, his breath coming out in white whispers. He paced like a trapped animal, knowing he was now bound to Crane. "Crane!", he let out a gutteral yell, burying the toe of his shoe, into Jonathan's thigh. "Christ! Temper, Bruce, temper...you know, we had groups you could have benefitted from at the ward. Anger management. Or perhaps, we should have treated you for split personality disorder...", he chuckled. "You know, here you are, scaling sky scrapers, clearing roofs in one leap, but you couldn't save your posh little manor from a few little flames. It was you against carbon dioxide, Bruce, and it seemed that your little Halloween costume couldn't save you then." Bruce saw his life flash before him. He'd worked so hard. Everything he stood for, shattered in the fragments of black ceramic in a state of abandon on the street. His symbol had been corupted. Bruce noticed a few raindrops collects in the curved ceramic, and shine on the street. A drop made it's way down his cheek, and Crane was still giggling maniacaly in the background. "Look, Wayne! The heavens are weeping for you! How perfectly metaphoric! It's said that bats hate the rain. So do billionares in Armani, so I'm told. Tell me, are you more worried about daddy's foolish ideals getting soggy, or the condition of you new gadgets and toys. Even though we're talking about the past and present, either way, you should get yourself inside, golden boy, before you ruin that highly styled hair".
Bruce yelled again, yanking Crane up by his unbuckled straight jacket, and slammed him into a wall. Crane's shoulder had gone numb by this time, and he found himself highly clever, so the guffawing would indicate. Bruce heard a sickening crunch, coupled with Jonathan's laughter that made his stomach turn. He was, no doubt, delirious by this time. It was nearly two in the morning, so Bruce grabbed some seditive from the utility belt by his side and injected the syringe's contents into the squirming and yelling professional before him. Dr. Crane stopped struggling, and his eyelids slid down halfway. Before they shut, he relaxed into Bruce's grip, and said, "This isn't over. This hasn't begun. Thanks for saving me.". With that, Bruce hoisted Crane over his shoulder, and started back towards the manor, letting the rain hit his face. There was enough excitement for one night. He'd turn him in tomorrow.