Title: A Death of No Importance
Series: On Pale Horses
Rating: T - May/Will go up. Drug use. Ohio. Cleveland. OC(s).
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Hell, I don't even have a laptop of my own.
Notes: I dissed Ohio in the chapter title. I KNOW. Wanna know why? 'Cause its honestly boring. I live there, I should know. If you do too, you should know. Or maybe not. I don't care. Yes, for the love of fishcakes, there are OCs in this story. I need them to be in there. Because the setting isn't Gotham. Why the hell would the Joker be in Cleveland? Much less any other villains. (:

I was listening to songs by Modest Mouse while writing this. Fire it up, The Stars are Projectors, Dramamine, Exit does not Exist, Ohio, and Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset just to name a few. For Chapter One, I was listening to some Russian Folk Songs. Scary, huh? o-o

FOR THE LOVE OF. I KNOW YOU ALL LOOKED AWAY AT THE FIRST SENTENCE IN THE ACTUAL CHAPTER. APPARENTLY THAT TURNS YOU OFF. ): IF YOU READ THE REST OF THE CHAPTER, YOU WOULD SEE THAT IT ISN'T TRUE. IF YOU WERE ONE OF THE PEOPLE WHO LOOKED AWAY, WELL. YOU DON'T APPRECIATE INCORPORATION OF A CHARACTER THAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD IN A SLIGHTLY LESS SUSPICIOUS WAY. GOD.

Enjoy?


Chapter Two - "Boring ol' 'hio"

It turned out that Jonathan Crane had a "brother"; one that was a year or so younger, and looked suspiciously identical to the dead man. The "brother", as Batman had learned, was named Elliot. Elliot Crane wouldn't know of the death of his one living relative until later, considering the man lived in Cleveland, not Gotham. But then there was the fact that neither met with each other within the past seven years, so they must not have been on the best of terms. Little things like that he could piece together, so Batman was entirely unsure of why he was going to tell this Elliot that Jonathan was dead.

The man wasn't that hard to find, at dance club called 'The Sway'; it was in the seedier parts of Cleveland, in a rundown looking building. If only that was the case. The inside was smoke and mirrors, techno and 60s music playing as loud as possible without disrupting the law. The people inside were young, dressed in all manner of simple to extravagant outfits. Flashing lights and glow sticks galore. People probably long time ecstasy users, or maybe just trying it for the first time. Not all of course, would be, but many would.

Elliot was leaning on the outside of the building, blue eyes gazing at the dark sky as his companion chattered away. His friend, Samuel, was a chatterbox. He talked on and on, about anything and everything. The only thing he seemed to steer away from was Gotham. As if it was a no-no conversation to speak of the city. Something strange about those two, Batman noted. They both had identical numbers tattooed on their knuckles. Not identical, the numbers were different, but they were of an unusual style.

No, they were just regular numbers printed on their knuckles. They just held a sense of foreboding. On Samuel's hand was the number nine, and on Elliot's the number three. "My god Elliot! You're so lucky. Only three? Geez, that's so easy to pick and choose yours. I got nine this time." It was the Samuel boy, light brown hair and a baby face that was dusted in freckles. Smiling. Loud. "Nine people? Ugh. How many clubs will I have to visit to fill the quota?"

"However many it takes." Elliot's voice was smooth, pleasurable to listen to. Sounded like someone who could hold a decent conversation without flattery or bringing up gossip. A person Bruce would have gotten along with. But enough of that- their conversation was entirely strange. Three people? Nine? A quota? It sounded like they were apart of a gang. But they didn't have that brutish look that was expected.

Or maybe they were just higher up than the thugs Batman normally saw. He shook the idea off. The two just didn't fit the image of a gang.

"Ugh. I hate it when you're right- which is always!" The Samuel fellow seemed like a complainer, but a person who complimented at the same time. Elliot excepted the comment with a nod of his head, and did nothing further. "Anyways, I'm off. Gotta do what I got a do, else the number will get higher. You're so lucky!" He started to walk away, but ended up shouting something. "Don't stay out too late! You get cranky otherwise. What a woman!"

There was a glare from the blue eyed man, a nasty chilling look that caused Samuel's pace to quicken. Like he was afraid of Elliot. Batman was pretty sure the glare could only amount to an angry kitten's, but he wasn't on the receiving end of it. He barely caught the muttered words from Elliot. "Sticks and stones, Samuel, sticks and stones. Words hurt more."

Elliot turned back to the building, lips set in a grim line, and muttering to himself. It was a strain to hear his voice even with the voice amplifying device- devices? Hell if he knew exactly what to call the things Fox gave him. "Fuck. Almost eleven. I still have one more to go, well, best get busy. If I actual finish today's quota, tomorrow's a day off. Thank goodness."

Half an hour passed, and then another. Soon it was eleven thirty, and the sound of an ambulance came closer.
Whee-ooo. Whee-ooo. Whee-ooo! It pulled alongside The Sway, and the people rushed in amongst the people, dragging out a flailing woman on a stretcher. She was screaming, covered in sweat, and scantily dressed. About the age of nineteen. Curly hair clinging to her skin, tears running down her eyes. "My god! My God! Get them off me! Go away! Go aw-ay!"

She slumped down at the last broken shout, eyes rolled back into her skull. A few spastic twitches, and then done. She was gone. They tried to shock her back into life, but it didn't work. Another death to report to the family, and the news, of ecstasy use. Batman tried not to balk in disgust. He really did. But they risked it by trying. They did.

They really did.

He tried to ignore the bored look on Elliot's face as the man left the building, heading towards his car. Batman really tried. But even the part of him that was Bruce couldn't keep a firm face.

-

Jonathan headed down the bland, and horribly decorated hallway (Plaid wallpaper? In that shade of green?) towards his apartment door. There was a little more spring in his step, he wasn't going to have to work tomorrow! It was his first day off in a long while, and hell if he knew what he was going to do. But he wasn't going to work. That was good enough for him at this point.

Fumbling to get the key from his ring of keys, he found the right one, gold and shiny, he unlocked the door and entered. Hitting the light switch, he winced at the sudden bright light. It was a lot different than the dim ones in the hall. Hungry he headed towards the kitchen, intent on finding something to hold him off until morning. Late night snack cravings wouldn't do good for his image.

He found nothing appealing in the fridge, and so moved on to the cupboards. No. No. No. No. Was that what he thought it was? He pondered briefly over why there was a box of brownie mix in the cupboard (He didn't remember buying it), but took the box out of the cupboard. Got himself a spoon, and ate it dry. (Personally he would have preferred chocolate chip cookie mix, but brownies were good enough.)

Then he headed over to the living room to flop down on the couch only to jump back up from it. "Aren't you supposed to make the brownies first?" The bestial growl startled him. Because
oh my god he recognized it. It was Batman. Fucking Batman had found him! Was he going to get the shit beat out of him? Again! For the what- umpteenth time? (It had been too many to count, but over seventy, he was sure.) But no, Batman was tensed to fight. Instead he was leaning, casually, against the wall near the window.

"I should charge you for breaking and entering." Jonathan could. And he would, if only he didn't want an investigation as to why the hell Batman came to his apartment, in Concord, when Batman's jurisdiction was technically Gotham. "But I won't. And it taste better this way. Why the hell are you here?"

Bruce snorted at that. It tasted better? It was all dry and crumbly. Nasty. "Mr. Crane, your brother is dead."

It was hard to resist the urge to spit in Batman's face, telling him that it was Doctor Crane. Not mister. He held it back. No need to start suspicions. The least he could do to spite the bat was speak in a callous tone. "Oh. I knew that. They sent an email. What, did you find the body or something? Or are you guilty of the crime?"

"Don't accuse me of things I wouldn't do." He snarled this time, glaring at the twig like man. It would be so easy to break all the bones in Elliot's body. No. He couldn't think like that. He had to resist. Had to. Batman didn't succumb to rage and beat innocent bystanders.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. He was just playing with the mood. Or something like that. He didn't know what to call it, but he had just been kidding. Too late for that comment. "Look. I don't care what you would or wouldn't do. If you don't have anywhere to stay tonight, you can sleep on the couch Mr. Wayne."

"What?" He was flabbergasted. How had Elliot figured it out so quickly? The man didn't even live in Gotham! Or well, Bruce supposed other cities might announce things happening in other cities. They had when Superman showed up.

A thin eyebrow raised, curious, and mocking. "I said if you don't have anywhere to stay tonight, you can sleep on the couch."

"No. After that." He wasn't even disguising his voice anymore.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes. That. How'd you know?"

"'How'd'? Well I think its rather obvious. I mean, Batman shows up a few days after Bruce Wayne returns from the dead." He chuckled at the last part. How ironic. "I'm just surprised everyone else is too stupid to make the connection. Oh, and besides. How else would Batman get all his, ah, 'cool little gadgets'?" Jonathan paused, frowned. And then remembered what he was going to add. "And don't worry. I won't tell
anyone your little secret. Promise."

"I can't trust your word." Where had that come from? Elliot was certainly not his brother, and didn't appear to be the type to set a living person on fire. Or did he? Bruce sighed, he had to stop being so skeptic.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, and pursed his lips together. Couldn't trust him? Really? Well whatever. It didn't quite matter, because no matter what proof Batman had, he couldn't really prove Jonathan and Elliot were the same person. There had been a body, and there would have been scaring 'if he survived'. "Well, that's your problem. I'm sure while you have an excuse not to be in Gotham, you couldn't exactly get a place to stay in this area. So you might as well stay."

Bruce grunted, but he was rather surprised that the other man could easily guess what had happened. Or. Maybe it just wasn't so hard to guess. But there was the problem of clothes- or never mind. The blue eyed man had dug up a few articles of clothing that seemed to be about Bruce's size.

The only question was, why did he have them in his closet?

Despite that, Bruce got to changing into the clothes as Jonathan headed towards his bedroom. Making sure to lock the door.

"Oh shit."


I really hope you didn't think I would actually have Jonathan have a brother, and so turned away in disgust. I mean really. I know his history pretty damn well. While I'll probably end up taking the liberties that come with this being a FANFICTION, there won't be that much changes to it.

I forgot to say in the last chapter. But I'll say it in this one. FOR SURE.

Review, please?