Chapter 3- Hold on to me
(Dr Crane's POV)
Wake up Johnny…
…Johnny isn't available right now, would you like to leave a message?
Johnathan shifted uncomfortably within the confines of his cot, his shoulders aching from the prolonged exertion; his head knocking painfully against the unforgiving metal bars of his headboard, his sock-clad feet hanging loosely from the tip of the mediocre 'bed'- defeated. With every passing hour his mood soured considerably. He'd been tossing and turning all day long, and his delicate frame struggled with the strain.
This pitiful cot isn't designed for purpose, he whined internally. Of all the inconveniences that Arkham Asylum threw at him, who knew that it'd be the sleeping arrangements that irked the tired Doctor most of all, that, and the excruciating boredom. He'd taken to trying to nap throughout the day, because between the unfathomable screams of the inmates within his wing; all the loonies came out at night, and the frustratingly small bed frame he was supposed to adhere to, it was impossible.
You mean it's designed for a fucking midget? The Scarecrow mused, laughing coldly, clearly amused by the Doctor's continued discomfort, or at least, that's what he wanted to good Doctor to believe. In reality, this was his body as well. He knew Johnathan was struggling to adjust to life in the regimented Asylum. A mere year later, and Johnathan was still no closer to conforming. It was only through the intellectual interaction of each other that had kept Johnathan from falling off the reservation completely.
A few weeks previous, he'd been finally allowed out of his straightjacket full-time. Being fed unidentifiable cafeteria food by some slack-jawed intern, while his arms were immobile, was abhorrent to say the least. He'd refused to eat most days, due to the embarrassing nature of it, ergo, his tall frame continued to wither, he didn't possess the subtle strength he'd once had.
The brightly lit corridors of Arkham Asylum were a stark contrast to dim fluorescent lights of Doctor Crane's cell, a peek at the dank reality that Johnathan had left behind, many moons ago. He absorbed every detail of his surroundings ravenously, as if it were one of his previous experiments. If he focused impeccably hard; ignoring the heavy shackles binding his feet and hands. The ripe clinical smell of the Asylum seemed almost soothing. The thought enraged him. I was the Director of this Asylum, and they stole it from me.
…and we'll take it back, the Scarecrow soothed, giving his counterpart a knowing smile, and then glaring suspiciously down at the Doctor walking alongside them. She's talking to you. He tapped a playful finger to the side of his nose. Pay attention Johnny, we can't have her knowing that her patient is still having conversations with himself, she'll certify you insane, and back to the straightjacket you go.
It'll ruin our progress, that's for sure.
Johnathan was immediately back in reality, glancing sideways at Doctor Francis, just has his counterpart had done.
"Now that you're out of your restraints, Johnathan, you can interact more freely with your fellow inmates, and I've taken the liberty of enrolling you in one of our Art Therapy sessions" Doctor Francis explained carefully, avoiding Johnathan's obvious scrutiny as much as she could, she'd taken to looking surreptitiously at her hands.
Doctor Geraldine Francis, was simply inept, thought Johnathan, smugly. It had infuriated Johnathan when they'd first been introduced, their first session had been a complete derailed disaster, although Doctor Francis was not aware of it. He'd garnered everything he needed to know about the Doctor; from the depths of her cool, grey eyes, that housed no curiosity for the profession or her patient, to the fact that she'd grown up on a farm. Scarecrow had had quite the chuckle at the latter. How dare they lumber me, with her, she's a milkmaid? He was a 'High Profile' patient, and he'd been given, recently-graduated Geraldine, average in every conceivable way.
His anger slowly depleted, as he came to the sudden realisation that he could easily manipulate her to his advantage. Within a short couple of weeks, he'd retrieved his glasses, was allowed basic reading material in his cell and was now, out of his straightjacket. But as Doctor Crane observed, every good thing must come to an end. He looked down at the redneck-doctor with distaste. What do you fear?
"Whilst I'm incarcerated here DoctorFrancis, and as I've told you before, I would be prefer to be referred to as Doctor Crane, after all, the court may have striped me of my legal human rights, and freedom, but when the Judge sentenced me, I distinctly remember him saying 'Doctor Johnathan Crane', and I want you to adhere to that." His tone was one of condescension and feigned politeness. In actuality, reminding Doctor Francis of this fact, was becoming ever more tedious. He hoped that one day, he'd be able to visit Doctor Francis again, when the environment was substantial; her strapped to a table, and him holding the fateful needle. He'd held the cards all along, but he'd like to make her painfully aware of the fact. She was as vulnerable to him now, as she would be then.
Johnathan hid a sadistic smile behind a mask of nonchalance, he had subdued Scarecrow long enough, and Johnathan was struggling to keep his alter ego's urges at bay, as well as his own. He continued mercilessly, his tone devoid of all humour. If he couldn't touch her, he was more than capable of ripping her apart with his words. For now.
"-and please, Doctor Francis, don't just presume that you can 'take a liberty' in regards to me. I will not associate myself with my fellow inmates, I have nothing to offer them except contempt, and the feeling is undoubtedly mutual" Doctor Francis's eyes were now fixed on the floor, as they continued marching forward, she flinched occasionally when his words sounded overtly venomous. "Art Therapy is a preposterous idea on your part, and the fact that you believe that I would submit to this, clearly displays to me your naivety. Remember who you're dealing with, Doctor."
"We're here" She whistled, sounding relieved, eagerly pushing open the door to the Art Therapy Tech room, and quickly stepping inside, after Doctor Crane, and nodding courteously to a few other co-workers milling around.
"Ah Johnathan, welcome" An unfamiliar voice purred. Another female Doctor sat patiently in the middle of the room, a circle of inmates surrounding her. He struggled to place her name; once The Joker had been admitted, a substantial amount of Doctors had immediately resigned. This must be a new recruit. He grimaced, this was degrading. Is it too late to sign up for Electro-shock therapy?
"Take a seat and join us" The all-too-happy Doctor smiled, gesturing to an empty chair at the far side of the circle, with a simple canvas and a multitude of apparatus beside it. Scarecrow crooned gleefully at the sight.
What's got into you? You despise painting. It's redundant.
Look Johnny-boy, weapons, the giddiness of Scarecrow's voice unnerved Johnathan.
You can't, not yet. He urged, quickly grasping Scarecrow's dangerous intentions. He pointedly ignored Doctor Francis's triumphant smirk, as he calmly walked across the room, without quarrel.
Johnathan took a reluctant seat, wiping his sweaty palms onto his Orange overalls as he did so. Doctor Francis took a chair beside him, apparently to oversee his 'work'.
Come on Johnny, let me have some fun. It's what we want.
The session begun in quick succession around him, inmates slashing paint upon their canvases, with pitiful delight, whilst their intrepid Phycologists looked on with either, happy satisfaction or plain boredom. He had yet to pick up his paintbrush.
"Johnathan?" Doctor Francis asked tentatively, gesturing for him to proceed. Asif.
The Scarecrow's welcoming tendrils had started to eclipse Johnathan's now- vulnerable mind, the feeling of intense euphoria enticing Johnathan. They were, after all, the same being, and what Scarecrow wanted, Johnathan undoubtedly desired too, as much as the Doctor reputed it.
Stop, Johnathan insisted, pleading with his alter-ego. He could feel the irritating presence of Doctor Francis beside him, sighing in frustration, as she picked up the Paintbrush for him, and put it hesitantly into his awaiting palm. She had no idea of the inner- struggle that he was currently battling, and that she was aiding, unintentionally, in her own demise.
"That's it" Doctor Francis encouraged, as his fingers unwittingly gripped the paintbrush, his actions not his own. Scarecrow had won.
Fine. Johnathan relented, with a sharp exhale. As soon as he'd spat out the response, he was shoved abruptly into the recesses of his own mind, stuck watching his morbid alter-ego's actions from afar, as if he was in a movie theatre, he was slightly disheartened by the obscene lack of popcorn.
Within a few short seconds, the Paintbrush clutched tightly in his fist, was swung, with unparalleled speed into Doctor Francis's eyesocket, the wooden handle splintering on impact, and her body hitting the carpet with an unceremonious thump! Johnathan's shackles miraculously un-shackled.
Her body immediately went into catatonic spasms, but life had already left the unfortunate doctor. Johnathan frowned, as Scarecrow was tackled abruptly to the floor, with a painful grunt.
Killed instantly. Crane observed critically, as if he was discussing the weather, slitting her throat may have prolonged the satisfaction somewhat. It's takes up to a minute for the subject to die. What a waste.
Yes, now thanks to you, I'm confined to my cell for the foreseeable future, and was heavily sedated, it took me days to be able to see straight again.
I did it for us, Johnny-Boy. She was irritating, I just wanted to add a little bit of colour to her eyes. His alter ego blurted out a wheezy laugh, but as quickly as it had begun, it abruptly ended. Drawing Johnathan's undivided attention. Wha-
Get up, Johnny. Now.
Johnathan threw out a shaky hand onto the table beside him, searching weakly for his glasses. Placing them onto the bridge of his nose he sighed, and proceeded to sit up, scooting curiously to the edge of the cot.
What? Johnathan questioned, already bundling up his cotton blanket, to be used as a makeshift weapon.
Scarecrow hushed him, Listen.
Arkham was deadly silent, and then… it wasn't.
Without warning, the rickety foundations of the Asylum started to shake violently, a loud obnoxious sound had erupted throughout the building, and the vibrations were astounding. Johnathan immediately stalked to his window, his fists enveloping the cool, metal bars, which kept him captive. He peeked outside, and to his amazement, the yard was relatively peaceful, and seemingly, so was the rest of the Island. The hot summer's day beyond, was gradually becoming an equally tranquil evening.
It's contained to the Asylum.
Johnathan cursed, struggling the place to noise that was still ongoing. If it had been an explosion, apart from the odd particle of dust, the sound would've ceased. It seemed as if the entire Asylum was screaming in unison, but Johnathan quickly dismissed the idea. The sound was definitely one of mirth, not terror. He continued to listen attentively, whilst pacing the short length of his cell, two strides was enough. He continued pondering until a familiar aroma caught his nose.
His nostrils flared, and without hesitation, he was stood on top of his sheets, eyeing the air vent above his cot with new found curiosity. A steady stream of ominous gas was seeping through the shaft and into his cell below. The smell was all-too distinctive, he recognised it immediately.
"Bhutan" Johnathan murmured, his jaw slack and eyes wide; the wondrous blue flower, which held amazing capabilities. His thoughts went directly to Ra's a Ghul, the man who had originally introduced him to the hallucinogenic, which in turn, had allowed him to complete his research, but he knew he'd been seen to by The Batman.
His first instinct was to quickly clasp a hand across his nose and mouth, stifling his breath. He almost laughed at his own stupidity, after his previous exposure to the compound, he'd developed a mild Anti-dote which should counteract the Toxin, and injected himself. He thought back to his last encounter with the toxin and openly shuddered; Scarecrow wasn't as prevalent in the old days, he was easily suppressed, but since the incident he'd become insatiable. The young Doctor had chalked it up to the fact, that he'd been hit with three doses of the compressed gas in one go, and Scarecrow had thrived off it, essentially securing his strength. At least, that's what he'd like to believe. Or perhaps, as Scarecrow liked to say, 'I was always here, Johnny-Boy, I just emerged when you were finally ready to embrace me'
He kept a secure hand across his mouth, just in case, and began pacing the short length of his cell again.
This is certainly a similar strain to our toxin, but…different. The potent smell is slightly sweeter, and the cloud is more robust; it's not dispersing as easily as ours.
It's ours for sure, Johnny, and now the question becomes, who's developed our toxin? –thieving cretins. Scarecrow's tone was one of unparalleled rage.
Johnathan hesitated, coming to an abrupt halt in his prolonged pacing, he knew he should be vengeful of this character, it was his toxin after all, but he couldn't help but acknowledge how impressed he was at what this individual had achieved. It was nigh unbelievable. Creating the Toxin, in itself is a tedious action indeed.
Let's just say, we need to find them, and have a little conversation, but first…we need to get out of here.
He pushed himself pensively against the plexi-glass window, which separated Johnathan from the empty adjacent cells. Upon his publicized arrival, all the inmates within his vicinity were quickly relocated, the cells opposite and beside his, had been empty since; the crazies were unsurprisingly weary of their former Physiatrist. The Doctor would've gloated when he heard the news, but given the circumstances, he was understandably too blue to be smug, as he was marched, and thrown into his cell.
He peeked curiously in both directions, searching for his personal orderlies, the corridors were seemingly deserted; although the dense cloud of gasconcealed most of the hallway beyond, limiting his vision. Aside from the noise, you'd think the desolate Asylum was abandoned. He quickly assumed the guards were preoccupied elsewhere, or had unfortunately, been affected themselves. Johnathan sniggered, knowing his presumption was correct.
He marched over to his bedside table and picked up the heavy piece of apparatus, and lifted it fluidly above his head. The table had been previously bolted to the floor, but during a particularly long-night, Johnathan had pried it loose, leaving his fingernails haggard. All he had needed was a distraction, and through some miracle, it had finally happened.
The strain of lifting the table had an undesired effect on Johnathan's tall, but tired, physique. He'd been overly presumptuous. He wobbled unceremoniously to the left, and then again to the right. He immediately regained his balance, planting his feet firmly on the floor, feeling the weight in his hands. He kept his breath shallow, as he took a tentative step forward. A horrific migraine threatened his new-found stability. His lank arms started to buckle pathetically under the strain, and he grimaced. It's now or never. With a rush of adrenaline, using the table as a 'battering ram', Johnathan charged, full force into the glass window.
With an obnoxiously-loud shatter the flimsy door collapsed on impact. Johnathan's breathing was erratic, as the table fell out of his limp hands, and onto the concrete, with a humungous clatter!
That's goin' to wake the neighbours, Scarecrow joked, equally as relieved as Johnathan was.
It-it worked. Johnathan choked, taking another laboured breath.
The last fragments of strength left the Doctor, and his long arms hung lamely at his sides, his knees almost buckling beneath him. The events of the evening had been trying to the already tired man. Along with the inevitable exhaustion came pain; a few shards of glass had torn open his cheeks, as he'd collided heavily with the door. He reached a shaky hand to his seemingly wet lips, and was surprised to see a fearful amount of blood. If Johnathan had been anyone else, he would've panicked, but he remained distant. He looked down at his sock-clad feet and sighed-
Well, this is an inconvenience.
His feet were literally torn to shreds, the glass strewn around the corridor poked into the soles of his feet at every odd-angle imaginable, making it difficult to distinguish flesh, from cotton. The blood-loss was horrific.
Although Johnathan was decidedly calm, Scarecrow grew anxious.
Come on now Johnny, MOVE!
I'll die of shock before I reach the lobby. Johnathan corrected, a matter-of-factly.
MOVE!
"This is goin' to hurt" Johnathan mumbled, as he hobbled across the corridor, trying to put as little a weight onto his feet as possible. He limped steadily through the tunnels of Arkham, holding onto the metal banisters for support. In regards to an exit, he knew of only two (that didn't need an access pass), he was heading in the direction of the closest. Unfortunately, both required him to walk up a hefty length of stairs.
Luckily for Doctor Crane, stitching up his wounds would be a doddle, but that would come after his victorious escape. If I escape. Thinking realistically, he knew he couldn't make it up the stairs without help. The elevators were most-definitely out of action.
He worked his way carefully through the 'High Security Wing', and marveled at the sight presented to him.
They- They're laughing. It was all he could muster, his mouth hanging open in awe.
He couldn't help but stop and admire a familiar face, as he limped through the halls of Arkham.
-Peter 'Mad Dog' Keen-. An extremely volatile EX-patient of Dr Crane's, was laying in the fetal position on the dirty floor of his cell, his body thrusting up and down, as if he were having a seizure. If the laughing persists, he's liable to give himself a hemorrhage, Johnathan observed, coldly. He'd tore open his jumpsuit, in a desperate attempt to shed layers; as he obese body proceeded to overheat from the constant convulsions. He was partially laughing hysterically, partially choking on his own unforgiving tongue.
He talked a lot in our sessions, the irony of this is deeply gratifying.
Without realising, Johnathan had proceeded to hobble towards the cell door, and press his nose up against the cool, glass; in Dr Crane's twisted view, this was a chance to study and observe. He felt no pity for the man.
He was immobile for a few short seconds, simply staring, unblinking, at the man writhing in his own sweat and piss; before Scarecrow eagerly moved him along, they couldn't stop, not even for a moment.
After navigating the Asylum for what seemed like hours, he wearily approached the foot of the staircase. His mind was racing, but every viable option came up blank.
He was readying to lift his first shaky foot, onto the step, when suddenly, he felt the intimidating presence of another soul in the corridor, approaching from behind, the sound of slight tiptoeing footsteps; which would be unheard by most, seemed almost deafening to the Doctor. He spun around, quickly on the offensive. His eyes widened, he'd found his help.
"Why hello there Doc-tor, you're bleeding all over the, uh, carpet"
Joker.
Hi guys, so it took me a long time to write this chapter, I just wanted to get Johnathan right, and I hope I did that?(Cillian Murphy is excellent as Scarecrow, and it's hard to interpret that)- Let me know. Partially filler- Partially set up for the next chapter.
The next chapter will be set a couple of weeks after this, but that doesn't mean you're not going to get Joker & Johnathan Dialogue. Personally, I don't think they'd play every well with each other.
Plus, introduction to another of Gotham's favourites.
Don't worry, my OC and Dr Crane will meet eventually, hopefully within the next couple of chapters.
Again, Batman, Dr Crane and Gotham is NOT my property. All I own is my OC.
Comment or criticize, I'd love to hear from you.
Thankyou to all the folks who're already following this story, I hope this satisfies you. Much appreciated!