Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I don't own either 'The Crow' or 'The Dark Knight', or have any rights except fan rights to the late lamented Heath Ledger and Brandon Lee.

Street Freaks

Chapter 1

~Whispering me away from you~

'Burn' –The Cure


I enter Albrecht's apartment in the usual way; feet first through the window.

I have to jimmy it open, which annoys me, even though he can't know that I'm not six feet under, and slipping around on his window ledge in the rain.

He's back from the hospital already, dozing in an armchair in his tiny lounge room, and the television murmurs questioningly about the disappearance of the painted vigilante and the bodies that clutter up the church. His right arm is bound up in a sling, and I can see the wad of gauze on his shoulder where his shirt parts at the neck.

I throw myself down on the long lounge, feeling water from my clothes soak into the fabric. I dump my bag on the floor, and it rattles with the unseen weight of my makeup tins, the shredded leather outfit, a singed and ancient first aid kit, and a few photographs of Shelly I couldn't leave to the fire.

I can hear sirens wailing far away, and my handiwork tinges the horizon a burnt orange.

Albrecht snorts himself awake, and blinks in surprise at me.

"Eric?"

I attempt a smile, and scrape my hands across the cracking expanse of my face. Half of it was lost on the way over in the downpour.

I really need to find waterproof paints.

Albrecht, the bright spark that he is, notices my quandary, and points out the sink. As I duck my head under the flow, I hear him rise, groaning.

He holds back his questions until I'm finished, and I slick my hair back against my head, taming temporarily the scraggly pieces that hang in my eyes.

"Eric, what's happening? I thought you…well, died. Again."

Over his shoulder, I watch the crow flap through the window, his feathers glazed with rain under the lights.

"Turns out I'm hard to kill."

Another wave of annoyance washes over me at his confusion. I don't want to explain this.

I don't even understand it myself.

I brace one hand on the window I entered by, and watch the smoke blur the sky. It's almost cathartic, watching the Loft burn.

"I'm leaving."

He comes up beside me, pauses at the sight of the fiery sky, and I drop my hand.

"It's the Loft."

He doesn't respond, and I think he's grown to accept a lot of things from me. It's hard to ask for a painted dead vigilante to justify his actions to you, particularly when I can tell he doesn't want to hear the answers.

"Have you told Sarah?"

I avoid his gaze, and shake off the guilt. I'm not optimistic enough to believe that my little intervention with Darla is enough to keep her from the long, slippery slide back to addiction, but Sarah's a tough kid. She's a survivor.

He holds a coffee under my nose. I don't remember him making it. How often do I lose chunks of time like that?

We sit down, like two old friends, and the crow sharpens his beak on the back of a chair.

"Admetus took her the ring. She understands I can't stay with her."

"Who's Admetus?"

I nod my head towards the bird.

"I figured if we were going to be together for eternity, I had to give him a name."

"What does it mean?"

"Admetus was a king in Greek mythology. He tries to cheat his death by sending someone in his place, so his wife Alcestis sacrifices herself and goes to the Underworld for him. After her death, Admetus realises he doesn't want to live, and thinks his wife's fate is a happier one, because she is beyond pain and ended her life with glory. 'But I who have escaped my fate and ought not to be alive, shall now live out my life in sorrow.'"

I've always liked history. That every place had a story, even this broken city. I chose the Loft because of its history, the sweep of its arches that reminded me of Gothic cathedrals and ancient monks gone to dust.

His eyes soften, and impatience heaves a breath from me. I don't want his pity.

"I need your help."

He flashes a grin at me. "Does it involve getting shot?"

The laugh chokes itself out of me. God, why does it feel so wrong when I smile?

"No. I just…I need access to our trust fund, Albrecht. I need money if I'm going to live somewhere."

He sits back in contemplation.

"It's not like I can walk up there in my own person, and withdraw it."

The fund was for us when we married. Shelly and I always put some of our earnings in there, dreaming of the day we would be able to use it for our family. Some tiny faceless baby I will never know now.

"I'll leave most of it in Sarah's name, for her education. Or in case…"

In case her junkie mother has a bad hit.

"Say you're acting in my last interests. Move the money to another account, under my name."

He's scribbling down my instructions, and peers at me from where he's hunched over the low table.

"What name would that be?"

"Eric Crow."

He sends me a sharp glance, like something's rung false. Like he knows I buried Eric Draven forever.

Admetus raises his wings and caws at me, his claws skittering over the polished wood.

Time to go.

I stand to leave, and he stands with me, regret written in his face.

Since he met, he seems to have aged twenty years.

"Well, good luck, Eric." He offers me his hand, and I take it.

"You know, you saved this city. You brought down the whole criminal element. We can clean up the streets now. Sarah can grow up in a better world, because of you."

He catches my eye, and speaks with a frankness that embarrasses me, mostly because my motives were purely selfish, and my cleansing of the streets was just a side effect of having my revenge.

So I look him square in the eye back, and let the mask drop.

"I didn't do it for her."

He drops my hand, and his eyes fall away.

There. He sees me now.

I grab my bag, and follow Admetus through the window. It doesn't occur to me to use the door. That was from another life.

I grab the ledge above, and pull myself into a slow flip that drags at my wounds until my feet hit the cement of the roof. From below, I hear Albrecht's voice ring out through the darkness and the rain.

"Where will you go?"

I stay crouched where I am, and consider.

The sky is dark again, and a few blocks away my old home is smouldering ashes.

I've broken the last tie.

Admetus croaks above me, invisible.

"Gotham. I'll head to Gotham."

I hear the window below me close, and I turn my head to my jagged path of aerials and concrete and the blank spaces between buildings.

A path of the gods, while below insects crawl on the streets.

Author's Notes: Just one thing this time. The bit Eric quotes about Admetus is from an ancient Greek play by Euripedes called 'Alcestis'.

I hope people are enjoying this. I know I've got hits, so thanks to those who are reading, even if they don't review. And many thanks to BrilliantInsanity, my first reviewer!

Next chapter, Gotham! (And the Joker).

Love,

Taluliaka