Title: A Death of No Importance
Series: On Pale Horses
Rating: T - May/Will go up.
Summary: Jonathan's dead. Jonny's dead! His blood ran out, all over the floor, the ceiling and the wall. Everything is dyed red with it. But the floors are waxed, the ceiling clean, and the walls bleach white. Can you not see?
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Hell, I don't even have a laptop of my own.
Notes: This whole story, all of it, is based on the "Death, Judgement, and Hell" roleplay Kemo, Oz, and I continue on. From it I got the "Reaper" Jonathan. This is a spinoff on that idea, Batman's personality in this is mainly inspired by Oz, and nothing else. It has his own flavor in there. Sort of. Also based on the 'Arkham Asylum' comic where the villains take over the Asylum. The Joker's is a mix of things... but mainly Kemo's view of the clown. Honestly. I thank them for being inspiration, and the nagging folk who made me write this. Or at least made me think of writing it.
Enjoy.
Chapter One - "The Judge"
They found the body that morning. They found it lying in an alleyway in the Narrows. It had been a dirty alley, and Batman had stumbled upon it chasing after the Joker, who had suddenly frozen. Prim and proper, just looked to be sleeping. If not for all the red, and the candlelight flickering about showing how the neck had been cut ear to ear. Blood coated the floor, dripped from the walls, and collected in puddles around the body. It still had its color then. Lips were still a vibrant red to them, and the cheeks a rosy pink. The death had been instant.
Flickering light from the candles made shadows dance across the skin, the eyes were open and staring lifeless at the sky. The eyes were what told the duo who exactly this was. Bright blue, a shocking color that had always been steeped in sadness were now dull. Dull, unpolished, lifeless- whatever the term, it was Jonathan Crane's body there. His body washed in his own blood, a ritual disguised by death. Its a shock to both of them, but less so to the Joker than the bat. For the clown knew death and what it was like, while the bat only knew one side of it.
The bat, however, was the first to act. Pulled out his cellphone and called the only person he knew would get there, "Gordon. Dead- Crane. Scarecrow. Alley. Narrows." Without waiting for the answer, he hung up, and sent the address to the police commissioner. He watched carefully as the Joker bent down next to the first true villain the bat had ever faced. He took a chance and asked, "Did you know him? Or- ever met Scarecrow?"
No reply at first. Then the clown stood, and brushed nonexistent dust onto his purple pants, face unusually grim. But then he smiled, laughed, and then, "No, I didn't." There was a pause for thought, and something else. "But I heard of him. From Harvey Dent, he made a great show of pointing something out." Face twisted into a grimace now, voice angry, "He said- he said that I am not like you. That you are not like me. It is the Scarecrow and the bat that are more alike. Because they both instill fear. Fear is their primary goal. In different people, but it is the goal. That it is ironic that two people of such likeness should exist in the same place and time, and cross paths." Then the Joker spat, "I'm glad they're both dead!"
One was figuratively dead, as Harvey Dent no longer existed, instead was replaced with Two Face. A villain too easily swayed by the Joker's propositions of black and white choices. As such in this situation, the only one dead was Jonathan Crane. Poor, poor Jonathan Crane. No one would be mourning his death. It was a death of no importance. None at all. People would rejoice, yes, but he had never been the biggest of villains. If anything, he was the most preferred. Nobody died when it was only Jonathan's doing. No one perished. Victims could even recover from the madness, if the antidote was administered quick enough.
Jonathan Crane would just be another name listed in tomorrow's obituary.
At best it was sad, and Batman knew he shouldn't be relieved, but he was. Jonathan could have been saved from his madness at Arkham, and then go back to living normally. But that wouldn't have happened, just as it won't with the Joker. He knew that, but to lose such a great mind... that was done and over with. The Joker had escaped, and the police had arrived. There was a somber air as the six people, Gordon included, looked at the body of Jonathan.
After a short conversation, the body was taken to a crematory. Burned, and the ashes scatter on the wind.
But things are white, and things unseen are seen everyday.
-
He stirred, and groaned at the stiffness in his body. It traveled up and down, dug little needles into his spin. Little focused spots of tingling pain, collected in his limbs, and then it was gone. A sudden wash of numbness, then the return of feeling. Nerves starting to do their duty once more, sending the little transmissions to his brain. The message was pain. Pain focused in his neck, at the base of it, the feeling of rapid growth. Rapid reconstruction of the area that had been slice.
Then it died down, and ragged gasps escaped his throat. He breathed the clean air in fitfully, but he was breathing. Not dead? But someone had attacked him, had cut his throat. Had killed him. It was unexplainable, but he was alive. Breathing, hurting, but alive. Jonathan looked up at a gasp of awe, and then the sound of clapping. Only one person clapping, one person other than him in the room. Finally, he opened his eyes, but shut them at the brightness. The bright white. It had burned them, so unused to the thing called white. He hardly saw it in Gotham.
"Youse breathe." The voice was shocked, trembling but excited. Excited that he was breathing? It made no sense, but he wasn't going to look at the white again. "No one breathes here. No one. Because here, whoever comes is dead." That got him looking, risking the bleach white walls, the white waxed floors, and the bland ceiling covered in bright lights. Jonathan saw the squat man standing before him, he saw the shiny black shoes, and the suit. A little bald man with beady eyes, and a wrinkled faced. Shriveled. A dwarf. "But youse ain't dead, are you? Which means youse one of 'em."
"One of-" Jonathan's voice sounded awful, distorted, disgusting. Ragged, torn. Unused. But nevertheless he was going to ask his questions. "One of what? Where am I? Am I really dead?"
The dwarf's stubby fingers flipped wordlessly through a battered black notebook, lips pressed in a tight line. "Youse Jonathan Crane?" Jonathan nodded quickly, wondering what this was about. "Youse name isn't listed in the Book. Youse were never going to die. But'cha did. That means you one of 'em. As to where youse are, youse in the Room. Judgement's Room. Me? I am youse judge. Youse, youse one of 'em."
Drawing back in a silent snarl, Jonathan bit back a smart retort. So he was dead, but he wasn't. It was hard for his mind to cope with the idea, but it wasn't the craziest thing that had ever happened to him. Getting a strange looks from people now was bad enough, now he wouldn't have to deal with that. Or it seemed so. "Are you going to tell me who 'they' are, or not?"
"I am, I was getting to that. Hold your horses." The judged snapped, and fixed his red tie. Smoothed out the wrinkles in his pants and continued. "Youse one of the Reapers. Youse one of 'em. They die, when the ain't supposed to die, and they come here. And they can breathe. The dead don't need to breathe. Me? I'm guessing youse Fear. There are twelve main Reapers, and now, youse joining them. Fear was recently decided as a... means of death. Youse? Youse death. Fear brings many a death. Old Age, Nihilism, Sacrifice, Loneliness, Intoxication, Despair, Destruction, Rage, Greed, Madness, Law, and now Fear. There are many others yes, but those are but the main thirteen. Thirteen Reapers... what an unlucky number."
"Wait- what?"
"Youse don't get it do youse? Aiya ya... well youse get it eventually." He paused, and looked at the dark haired man. "Yes youse will get it on your own. Youse a smart looking one. 'Sides youse reek of Fear."
He hefted Jonathan to his feet, and lead the much taller individual towards an outline in the white wall, a door. He opened it to reveal blackness, and then grinned a near toothless grin. A manical gleam in his eyes, and then he shoved Jonathan. Loosing his footing and tumbling into the blackness, he heard one last thing.
"Have fun with them humans."