Warning: First chapter contains depictions of abuse and non-compliant physical/sexual themes.

Part 1/2

How long had she been here? Had the league been searching for her? At the start of this imprisonment she tried vehemently to connect mentally with Jon, the Martian Manhunter, but it felt like the link had been severed somehow.

Clink

The clanking sound from the steel bolt opening her room pulled Zatanna from those drifting thoughts.

The room was white and padded throughout all four walls. The light from the ceiling was harsh, but standard for any hospital setting. Zatanna absently raised a hand to the white fog and cringed. The lack of sunlight was causing her naturally warm olive skin to take on a slight tinge of yellow. Within the room was a toilet and bath accompanied by a hanging curtain for "privacy" in the far left corner, a sink on the other side with a small hand towel and an ornate brush, and a bed in the center where Zatanna currently laid wearing a plain white gown, her thick black hair wild around her face.

Zatanna tucked one of the tangled ebony locks behind her ear and glanced at the brush. The irony of such a beautiful trinket gone to waste was the only humor she could seize from this stark place.

Step

The soft thud of polished loafers on tile echoed throughout the room. Zatanna hated the seemingly innocent noise. It always signaled his arrival. She shifted slightly in order to turn her back to the door, recoiling her hand to rest near her chest in the process, palm over heart as if to offer some type of protection. There was nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. The door was the only entrance and exit to the room.

This room is a cell... she mused silently.

Zatanna could feel the fight in her draining. Her voice was the catalyst for her power. She enchanted audiences during her brief stint as an illusionist with her charming spells and later ensnared the villains of Gotham and Central City with her darker incantations. Sure, the magic was always in her, but without her voice she could barely even muster dim sparks flittering from her fingertips.

"Good morning, beautiful." The voice was precise and sterile like a surgeon's knife. It cut through the fallen heroine and prompted her eyes to tightly squeeze shut, not ready to face the monster.

But his presence was still felt.

The weight of a thin, tall, male's form sunk into the bed with his hip grazing Zatanna's back. He shifted a bit, settling in so that he could open a small briefcase on his lap. The clicking from the briefcase always triggered the same flashback of memories.

Click click click

A few quick taps on the keyboard and the distress signal's location was projected in large font over the spacecraft window. Two out of three heroes observed with caution. One was a swift blur, already gearing up to reach the location.

Green Arrow and Jon offered to go with her, but the league's resident magician had patrolled these streets before. A distress call and coordinates from downtown Gotham were hardly things worth bothering her teammates with. Besides, the criminal activities in Gotham had significantly decreased since Nightwing took on the mantle of Batman. Dick was away for correspondence with Diana on Themyscira. Zatanna smirked thinking of how he would relish in the details of whatever new criminal mafia was sure to have sprouted in Gotham during his absence. He promised Zatanna a drink when he returned and this would definitely be something well worth talking about...

"Are you sure, Zat? We don't even know who sent the message." Ollie quirked a bushy blonde eyebrow and placed a hand to rest on his quiver strap as if ready for battle. Jon stood to his left watching the exchange between his friends.

Zatanna giggled at the sight finding it difficult to take the man in green leggings and a costume rivaling Robin Hood seriously. Of course, her costume wasn't exactly fear provoking. Still, her pristine fishnets and top hat paid homage to the greats and if nothing else Zatanna was a stickler to tradition.

"I'm serious, Zat!"

Zatanna stood with a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes.

"I'll be fine, Ollie. Honestly, I got a few tricks up my sleeve for whatever gang or lowlife is sneaking around Gotham."

"But we don't know wh-."

"Blah, blah, blah."

With a wink and before there could be more protest, Zatanna swiped on her white gloves, gave a twirl, and shouted "TROPELET OT NWOTNWOD MAHTOG!" disappearing in a puff of gold glittering smoke. Her comrades looked at each other with concern.

She arrived at the familiar spot as expected, only there wasn't a criminal in sight. In fact, there wasn't anybody at all in the dark alleyway, but that wasn't what struck the heroine with surprise. All Zatanna did see was a black top hat with a familiar stuffed white rabbit peaking through the rim. Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What are you doing here?"

She only managed a few steps towards the odd scene when the hat swiftly released purple gas that lulled her into a deep slumber.

"I've been tinkering with the serum. This shouldn't hurt as much."

Here again...

He tugged her arm, causing Zatanna to shift over and face the doctor.

No!

Her eyes widened accompanied by the light stirring of fear.

This needle is so big! How could this one possibly hurt less than the others?

Syringes leaking with medications pumped into her daily, stripping her of her voice, her connections with the league members, even some of her strength. Her captor gave a slight squeeze of the trigger, causing little spurts of green dew to flicker across the air. He smirked at his handiwork with pride.

How could this be possible? Maybe none of this is real? Maybe I'm still unconscious and dreaming amongst those purple clouds...

Prick

There was a faint noise and sensation of painful pressure. The throbbing marred flesh of her arm let Zatanna know that this was not a dream. Her eyelids gently fluttered open and her gaze lazily drawled down towards the spot on her arm, her blurred vision focusing on the bony, pale, grip that held it in place and a small ruby droplet of blood that slid away. The pale figure quickly wiped it away and placed a wrap on the spot. Despite the pain, a ghost of a smile began to etch across her quivering lips.

A dream. She mused.

When was the last time she had one? It seemed all she was afforded was the occasional blessing of darkness in sleep. Too few nights had been spent in darkness. Most of the time the night was stolen by terrors. The manufactured nightmares Dr. Jonathan Crane used to torture her.

The grip on her arm tightened causing the slightest wince to crease her face. A shooting pain recoiled from the spot followed by the cool voice of her captor letting out an annoyed breath.

"Have I lost you already?"

To be lost and away from this place would be a very welcome dream right now.

His hand left her arm and was now caressing her face. The cold skin almost felt nice...near numbing.

"You aren't meant to go insane. At least not yet."

He threw his head back and let out a high-pitched chuckle, some of the slick inky tresses stuck to his forehead. After a few moments he regained his composure and licked his lips.

"I still need you..."

No. She attempted to mouth, but it merely appeared as a sharp intake of breath, the light from her eyes draining insidiously.

There was a sudden shift in Dr. Jonathan Crane's features. The ice of his blue eyes melted into feigned tenderness. He clicked his tongue and removed the clear-framed glasses from his face, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment as if in deep thought.

"Maybe not as painful...but too numbing?"

As if a light went off, he dove into the brief case once more and pulled out a small orange vile. With haste, he uncorked it and while cradling Zatanna's neck, brought the contents to her nose. The scent was energizing. A mix of orange and ginger attempting to mask a chemical undertone.

I feel warm

Whatever Dr. Crane had given her was working. The heat made it's way through her body, bringing a change of color to her face. Physically she was feeling much better, but Zatanna resolved to hide her content with the vile.

It was your fault to begin with. All of this is your fault.

"Stay with me." He spoke it as an intimate whisper.

Zatanna merely watched with a doll like stare, apathetic and indifferent.

Get away from me.

Dr. Crane sensed her distance and in an effort to physically overcome it, gently tilted her face towards his, pressing those dead lips into a forceful kiss.

No. Not again.

She found him most terrorizing like this. Not masked in the rotten straw form of the scarecrow, not with his case of noxious gas, but as Jonathan Crane. Jonathan was a disturbed...desperate man. The perfect irony of an antisocial psychologist that never carried feeling. His work on the questionable in character, yet very much human patients at Arkham Asylum was disgusting and violent and a true testament of his lack of empathy. He tried so hard to negate that image of madness. Even now dressed in his fine suit, musky cologne, and pretense of sophistication...Zatanna could taste the truth in his lips. It was bitter...cruel...and yet there was a longing buried deep beneath the surface.

Crane broke the kiss for air and a chance to reposition himself on top of Zatanna, still fully clothed, a thin sheet separating their bodies. The briefcase and syringe he just shot her with fell carelessly to the floor. It was an uncharacteristic spectacle for anyone who would have walked in, seeing the good and often stoic doctor lusting after one of his patients. Of course, no one would come, whatever or wherever this place was.

With the renewed strength from the vile, Zatanna rose her arms against his chest in protest. It was weak, but enough of a push to stop the assault on her lips. Dr. Crane broke the kiss and looked down at her defiant face. His lips were agape and that intense desperation radiated in his eyes.

"I-I can make you want me! Don't you see that? I have formulas that bend the will of my patients." He was panting heavily while stroking Zatanna's face. A strand of his greasy black hair dangled above her. It felt like a worm slithering across her face. Or perhaps that was just one of the nightmares.

Get off of me.

Dr. Crane made this plea a few times before. The medication made her senses dull, but the powerful magic that lived within her, the magic that didn't need a catalyst was always strong. It was a magic only few in the league knew she possessed, yet everyone no doubt, felt. It was the reason that wounded souls sought her out even before she joined the league. Once while she was touring her illusionist act in Gotham, a fan found their way back stage and told Zatanna about her depression...that she hadn't felt anything in months, but being at Zatanna's show, just in her presence, made her feel safe somehow. Like the young girl mattered. The raven-haired beauty didn't know whom this girl came with or if she was old enough to be wandering alone at night. She didn't know how the girl even got tickets to attend the show. It wasn't from paying if her worn out romper and scuffed shoes were any indication. Still, Zatanna wanted to help her. She could feel the sadness that lived within this girl. There was a deeper belief of being unlovable emanating from this poor soul. At that moment Zatanna was torn. She wasn't a mental health professional, but this girl needed something and though ethically it could be wrong, the magician wanted to use magic to help her. That special power...

Her only resolve was to speak a spell she thought might help with this little one's anguish. Plucking her lucky stuffed white rabbit from the vanity, she handed it to the girl with a weary smile and hummed.

"Leef evol"

The aura of pain was replaced with love, though how long it would last remained uncertain.

More powerful than her spells and enchantments was Zatanna's strength as an empath. Recently, words didn't need to be spoken for Zatanna to magically transfer her own feelings of contentment and compassion to others. Each day, Crane delivered the daily dose of serum. Each day, she felt the physical pain of the needle entering her body and the emotional hurt that lived within him as well. Each day, it became more difficult to mask the pull his pain had on her own heart. It was a beautiful gift being an empath and at times, a powerful curse. She didn't want to sympathize this man's hurt...his pain...the darkness that lived within him. She wanted to show nothing. Feel nothing.

Her face betrayed her inner resolve to remain detached as her eyes softened and looked into his, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

The ability to feel the emotions of other beings was something she had never been able to turn off. In time, especially with training from Martian Manhunter, one of the few who knew her power, the league's empath learned to cope with the more intense feelings she'd pick up from others. Unfortunately, her current state of fatigue coupled with Crane's serums rendered those coping skills useless. There was no denying she pitied this man. The electric current of compassion flowed from her body as he thirstily drank it up.

"Yes. That's it."

Crane seemed to sense the shift and placed a kiss on her forehead, then down her cheeks continuing until he reached the teardrop and licked it away tenderly, relishing in the taste. He made his patients cry many times. Exposing their deepest fears as he donned the Scarecrow persona was one of the only ways he was able to feel anything. Their pain seemed to fill a void he was left with long ago. Their tears were different. Selfish tears. Zatanna's were tears for him, a caring he had never felt before. They tasted like compassion, even as he treated her in this way. He looked down at her pained face, more tears swelling up in those beautiful dark stormy eyes.

I hate this...I hate that I care...

She cried for him even as she was his prisoner.

After years of watching her from the shadows, he finally found a way to ensnare his magical paramour. The one entity that could make him feel beyond anger, momentary satisfaction, and the unfortunate reeling's of fear from the Batman.

Crane gritted his teeth at the thought of the dark knight.

Zatanna was the only one from that idiotic troupe of mega humans that had any useful power, at least to him. It wasn't brute strength or ridiculous gadgets. The beauty was magic. How ironic a man of science could be so ensnared by this witch's spell.

"Good girl, Zatanna. I know you care about me. You're so special..."

Crane licked his swollen lips again, feeling the urge to kiss the spell caster once more. Zatanna was a beauty. Even the most impaired patients he worked on could see that. Those expressive eyes, long hair, full lips, warm skin, and naturally those curves...

"You're just so beautiful."

I hate it when he says that.

He craved the warmth of her body. Crane withdrew himself from his towering position over his captive and motioned to sit up once again on the bed. After getting comfortable he pulled Zatanna up by the shoulders, twisting her to turn so that her back leaned against his chest. Zatanna stiffened slightly, the doll like trance slowly dissipating as the side effects of Crane's injection waned and the empathic convulsions reverberated inside her. Crane's arms slightly hugged her body to him. He rested his chin on one of her shoulders and took a husky breath into her neck. Despite two weeks in this room the area still gave off a faint scent of spice like cinnamon. Crane greedily inhaled, closing his eyes as he took in her sweet scent.

"You smell so good."

I hate this.

After what felt like agonizingly long moments to the lost heroine, Crane's words collided with the tender skin, tickling her neck.

"I don't make you do things Zatanna."

You make me stay here.

" I want to give you your voice back."

Liar.

Crane began to lightly stroke his hands up and down her arms, an attempt to be soothing. It was clumsy and merely caused the hairs on those arms to stand in annoyance.

"I want to see the spells you could perform for me. "

You want to use me.

"I want to set you free..."

Zatanna's even breathing hitched. He never mentioned that before. She felt her heart burst as if one of Ollie's arrows hit her in the chest. Crane seemed to take notice, nuzzling her neck and smirking in victory. As disgusting as he was, her body relaxed into the sensation. It physically felt good and Zatanna was high off the chance of escaping outside.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? To walk in the sun?"

He nuzzled her neck further and then hovered over the crux of her ear speaking in a low whisper that tickled and caused her to involuntarily shiver.

"I want to hear your voice."

I'd kill you.

Would she? After Bruce's death, Dick became obsessed with "not playing God" and enforced a strict no killing rule the entire league followed, but that wouldn't stop her. The disappointment from her teammates was a speck of dust compared to the real catch.

"I want you to love me. I can love you. I already do."

Stop it.

The biggest barrier was that damned pull in her chest. The heat of hate mixed with compassion that was so crippling, it burned from the inside out. Could she kill this broken man? Would she?

There was a slight twitch against the small of her back. Zatanna closed her eyes, banishing all thoughts of empathy and compassion. It was him she felt.

Oh, God. No.

He continued to harden, no doubt aroused by the early sensations of compassion now tainted with fear. She tried to move away, but his fingernails grazed her skin, warning her to stay in place. The sense of power spurred the clothed tightness below to lengthen further.

" I want to hear the beautiful sounds you'd make for me."

I'd scream.

He was bolder tonight. He began to kiss her neck as his hands moved from their ministrations up and down her arms to raising the gown above her thighs. Zatanna tried to wriggle out of his grasp once again as the panic of the unknown sunk in.

He never gets this close. He neve-

Those long arms pulled her harshly back to him

"Calm down. I don't want to hurt you." His voice was gruff and filled with lust.

But Zatanna was anything but calm. With whatever energy left she thrashed and clawed at the sheets to free herself from him. He grunted as she inched herself half way out of his grasp and crawled to get off the bed, but Crane took advantage of the position and easily shoved her down on the mattress, placing himself behind and pinning her legs down with his knees.

"Relax! I know you love me! I feel it Zatanna, I feel it when you look at me. I feel it when you're next to me. Let me feel it inside you..."

The cold graced the bare flesh of her back as he ripped the gown open, forming goose flesh on the once smooth skin. A hand pressed on her back pushing her deeper in the mattress, while another fumbled with the metallic noise of a zipper being undone.

No no no no no...please stop!

And in that moment of pure panic, the brave enforcer of justice, the carefree charmer, the whimsical force of light that was Zatanna lost it. Sobs wrecked her body and her mouth silently screamed for Crane to be kind and leave her. It didn't matter if she stayed in this room forever or died here of starvation, just please leave her.

As she braced herself for the incoming violation, the pressure on her back subsided and the cool air was replaced with a sheet covering her instead.

Wh-what?

There was a buttoning of pants and frantic footsteps to the door accompanied by heavy breathing, but Zatanna didn't dare turn to see the spectacle behind her.

CLINK

The heavy door opened and slammed shut. The scarecrow was gone.