Author's Note: Well, I certainly never expected that I would be writing this pairing. However, this idea just took hold of my brain until I wrote the darn thing. I'm a little skeptical about the ending, as usual when it comes to my writing, but I hope that I didn't completely fail at capturing the characters. Special mention to Elly Liselle, whose wonderful stories really made me love this pairing. R&R would be so, so wonderful. xo.
Disclaimer: I do not own either of the characters used in this story; Batman belongs to Bob Kane and the likenesses used in this story belong to Christopher Nolan and his films. I am not affiliated with anyone from the films or from any aspect of the DC Universe and I am not writing for this for profit, it is merely an interpretation by a fan.
No Surprise.
He supposed, really, that it only made sense that their relationship worked. After all, they were both two fractured human beings, their psyches divided between who they wanted to be and who they couldn't help but be.
Bruce Wayne and Jonathan Crane. Batman and Scarecrow. When he thought about it, they were practically made for each other. They both knew what it was like to wish for a onesided mind, to wish that those underlying urges, eerily similar to voices, would just go away, letting them live normally, letting them truly be a billionaire playboy and renowned doctor. Instead, they were forced to hide in plain sight, accessorizing with Russian ballerinas and smiles that were infused with fake warmth.
Oh God, they knew what it was like to want so desperately to be normal.
But, quite simply, they weren't normal, no matter how hard they tried. No amount of acting could get rid of that feeling of sheer relief, the falling away of tension that came when they could both slip out of their public personas and get back into their true forms, slinking out into the night wearing Kevlar and burlap. They both thrived on the addictive buzz that came from seeing someone cowering in front of you, their eyes blazing with fear from the mere sight.
Really, they were nearly identical and it was only a matter of time before they finally realized it, realized that the statement opposites attract was completely wrong. Who else in the world would be able to understand them, to truly get why they did what they did, why they couldn't stop? There was certainly no possible way that models, prima ballerinas or any other proper member of society would be able to get them.
They were each other's only option.
Batman, of course, was the one who made that crucial first step, striding over the line they'd both been toeing for weeks. He'd silently appeared one night, dropping down from the roof of a building with no more noise than a feather would have made. Scarecrow had been waiting, waiting all night for Batman to find him. He knew that he would; they always found each other, after all, colliding in alleys or stalking each other in warehouses filled with fear toxin and drugs.
Although he'd been waiting, Scarecrow didn't expect the Batman to get so straight to the point, slamming him into the wall hard enough to make his breath woosh out. One hand, his fingers seemingly made of iron, clamped around his wrist while the other lifted his mask just high enough for his mouth to be exposed.
It was no surprise to either of them when Batman finally kissed Scarecrow. And really, it was no surprise when Bruce Wayne kissed Jonathan Crane. They'd been eyeing each other at events for weeks, Bruce sending glances from the middle of the crowd at Jonathan, who was always on the peripheries, mingling with other doctors or workers from the asylum. Slowly, over the course of nearly a month, Bruce started getting closer and closer to him, making excuses to talk to the people unlucky enough to be stuck on the fringes. His glances had gotten more lingering and more intense, forming themselves into looks that Scarecrow remembered only too well from his nights on the streets of Gotham, his wrists featuring finger shaped bruises.
Nearly a month after Batman and Scarecrow came together, Bruce and Jonathan did the same, tucked into a small room only steps away from a ballroom full of Gotham's finest, their suits getting gradually more crumpled as the minutes ticked by. Both of them tried to pretend like they didn't see the bruises and scars they'd inflicted on each other, marking each other. Both of them failed. Jonathan couldn't help but wince as his fingers ran over the patch of scar tissue on Bruce's chest, the direct result of Scarecrow setting Batman on fire. For his part, Bruce ran his lips over the bruises on the inside of Jonathan's wrists, apologizing silently for the crushing grip Batman's fingers had used on him.
Later that evening, all those apologizes were undone as Batman chased Scarecrow across Gotham, dispatching the other's thugs like they were children. Scarecrow didn't particularly care that his workers were being demolished behind him; he was just waiting for Batman to come and get him, to find him in the darkness.
He wasn't surprised, just a little startled, when Batman practically dropped on him from above, knocking him to the rough ground as easily as a rag doll. He'd known that Batman would find him; he did it just as easily as Bruce Wayne had found Jonathan Crane in the middle of a crowd of people and made him feel.
Really, he was only surprised when Batman tore his cowl off before diving down to kiss him, tearing at Scarecrow's burlap mask, eventually getting it over his head and dropping it off to the side. Neither one of them said anything about the sheer danger of what they were doing, revealing their true faces in so reckless a matter. It just felt right to not hide anything, to blur the boundaries. For once, they weren't strictly Bruce or Batman, strictly Jonathan or Scarecrow. They were whole, they were everything they wanted to be and they were alive.
At that moment, that was the only thing that mattered.