Title: A Whole Spectrum

Author: Robin's Wife

Chapter Two: When I'm Fucked Up, That's The Real Me

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for Sparrow and this idea of this universe.

Headline after headline trickled then rained then poured through the city.

Who Judges Gods Themselves?

Is Our St. Peter Really A Saint?

Hades, Close To Our Homes?

News broadcast after news broadcast kept me from eating my dinner with Sparrow.

"But really, Vale, who IS this guy? And what gives him to run through the night and start offing sinners?"

Men and women on the street, particularly the homeless, the ones with a sharp odor and missing yellow snaggle teeth barked across the street,

"Self-Proclaimed GOD OF FEAR, HEAR ME! SELF-PROCLAIMED, WHO IS HE TO HURT US?"

Perhaps Harley had a point.

"Another hit..."

Standing tall, reminding me of the crushing skull in the demented statue "Man and Skull," there he was.

"Kill them. It's the only answer, kill them Johnny-boy."

I lulled my head to the side, thin slivers of sunlight cut into the room and into my corneas from the cheap drawstring window. I wish Sparrow was with me.

"I can't kill them, Scarecrow."

My tongue felt warm and my veins felt chilly.

"What if they come for us Johnny-boy. Who's going to stop them? Edward? Quinzel? Isely? Please."

He leered down at me with the disappointment a father gives to an idiot offspring. Actually, I believe he leered at me with disgust, I'm a tad too high to calculate the purity of the disgust.

"I've gotta get home soon. University closes. Sparrow...dinner."

I eyed the needle on the faulty light wooden stool to my left.

"Listen to me you, fucking idiot!" He roared.

"Another hit..." I began.

The sensation of the morphine clawing into your blood stream.

I almost married morphine, once.

(Sparrow's P.O.V.)

I miss him when I put on tea, or when I pass someone smoking a cigarette, or when the History channel is on. I miss him at the dawn of the day when I graze my finger tips over to the right and I don't touch his muscle.

Johnathan Lucas Crane is my lawfully wedded husband and I love him more than I can surely explain. I love him to pieces, I love him to dawn, I love him to day, I love him to sunset, I love him to night. I love him enough that I could absolutely shatter.

I love him and I'm missing him because it's 10:30 P.M. and he still isn't home to me.

(Harley's P.O.V.)

"Did you talk to him, pooh bear?" His honed in on me drumming my finger tips on the coffee table.

"Mm-hm Mistah J. Just like you said." He was so pretty... and so mine.

"And did you get through to him, pooh bear?" It was almost like he flew to me. He was suddenly there before me.

"Barley. I don't think anyone does get through unless they're Sparrow!"

"Yes, yes, his ears are sensitive to the bird girl he's fucking, aren't they?"

He was always stuck on Dr. Crane. It was real sad sometimes, I swear the old doctor even took away my puddin's smile sometimes.

"Did you see the headlines, Puddin'? The public ain't likin' 'em too much nowadays!"

"They never really liked him, Pooh. They're just starting to vocalize it now. Ain't that a laugh?"

I swear Dr. Crane did something real bad to him once. Maybe that's why he's so obsessed with him. It's scary sometimes, sometimes I feel like he's always in his head. When we're watching TV, when we eat, when we sleep, even when we fuck. That came out wrong...

"What are we gonna do now?" I looked at him, confused.

"We're going to tell him."

"We are?"

"Well you are. About him."

I swear he's lost his mind the way he's grinning so much. I love it, I eat it up for breakfast all the time that grin. It puts little tiny butterflies in my tummy, makes my skin itch and paints my world into a pretty pink.

"I'm gonna tell 'em. About 'em!"

I love my almost lawfully wedded husband more than I can put into real words.

(Johnathan Crane's P.O.V.)

In dead night, perched over a building's ledge I get the sensation of nostalgia for this brash, ugly city. I recognize that this is in fact my home and if I truly despised it to such a crucial tip, I wouldn't be living here. I wouldn't have bought my wife a home, here.

Although then again, I do think about leaving. Running away, I always want to run away. Perhaps it's the left over effect of the bullying I faced. Or maybe it's my subconscious need to abandon anything and everything before it gets in too deep into my chest, into my core, into my soul.

Isn't a wife a paradox then?

Down below I heard an inebriated woman, no, girl, nearly squeal like a frightened hog.

I'll psychoanalyze myself at a later date.

(Billy "Sharp" Midman's P.O.V.)

This is the last time I talk to this stupid bitch I swear. Always holding out on me.

"Come on Cindy. You promised after we went out to the bar!" She's lucky she's sexy in red.

"I don't...care! Don'! Touch! Me! No! No! No!" Was she swallowing her fucking tongue or speaking Japanese?

"I fucking care, Hoe! You always fucking lie like this, fucking slut!" I was really going to do it this time.

"Bill, leave...me...alone! Go 'way!" Dominance is key and she's going to look so fucking sexy submitting to me, pressed against this wall.

A half-hearted shove and she was face first into the wall. She fell awkwardly, pushing her butt out and pressing her hands into the dirty stone wall. I love that tight ass. She let out this sound, this demented whine, I can't really describe it. It was crooning almost.

And then he was there.

(Johnathan Crane's P.O.V.)

There's a distinct shape in front of me, a grown man. A dirty grown man, they were always grown it seemed.

"That noise. It didn't sound...pleasant."

(Billy "Sharp" Midman P.O.V.)

I'm going to shit myself man. I'm going to fucking shit myself. I wailed around wide eyed so quick and hard Cindy slipped to the floor, facing the wall onto her ass.

"Stay the fuck away from me man. Stay the fuck away!"

(Johnathan Crane's P.O.V.)

"Now, now, child...Is that polite to say?"

It's simple really, what a muffled voice and a cocked head does to the rapist of Gotham. I am known. I am feared.

(Billy "Sharp" Midman's P.O.V.)

I'm fucking stupid because suddenly Queen is blaring through my head.

Mama...I don't wanna die.

I can't stay here. I can't run. I have to pee all that beer out right now, right now because Satan is standing in front of me and he's possibly doing the work of God by stopping what I was gonna do to Cindy.

"Please man... Please, I didn't even touch her yet!"

I was a fucking idiot, yet?!

(Johnathan Crane's P.O.V.)

A memorandum of

Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening

I clanked my scythe's butt onto the ground and raised it, tall above my cranium.

(Billy "Sharp" Midman's P.O.V.)

Oh... mama mia, mama mia...

(Cindy's P.O.V.)

Nothing really matters right now besides that I'm on my butt and I could get away, the alcohol is slowing me down though. Stupid fucking Billy...my papa said he was a no good street rat.

Who dates a guy named Billy anyway? It's better than Sharp though. Seriously, what dumb as shit typist thought of that? Is someone talking to Billy?

FOCUS CINDY!

I'm free, I'm free, just gotta get out of here. Now!

(Johnathan Crane's P.O.V.)

Just before I could slice my scythe I noticed, it was little, I noticed a bit of a realization in the young girl that she was definitely not pressed against a wall about to be raped. I suppose I should spare her the glimpse of watching her probable boyfriend (hopefully EX-boyfriend after this) peeled alive.

"What are you doing?! Don't come any closer!" Ah yes, I do love when the scum of the Earth plead.

(Cindy's P.O.V.)

I'm too fucked up...Billy's gone?

( Around 5:00 A.M.)

(Scarecrow's P.O.V.)

A laboratory mouse is a small mammal of the order Rodentia which is bred and used for scientific research. Sharp, is a rat.

"And rats don't deserve to sleep."

A strong slap to the side of the scalp and Sharp was roused awake, alert, terrified.

"What?! Let me go! You can't do this! Let me go! You can't hold me here."

It appears my rat has gotten antsy and rather bold since Johnny-boy scooped him up from the dusty road.

"Tell me what fear is." He appeared quite baffled.

"W...What?! You fucking freak-show lemme go!"

"Plato once said: We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light...were you a child once? Sharp? I don't believe you were. However I do believe you were once quite afraid of the dark, or perhaps you still are. Understandably so, there are terrifying things in the dark. I'm in the dark, Sharp. However, I am not something to fear. I am fear itself."