Chapter Four: Where are my socks…?

Usually I have little to no difficulty waking up, no matter the time; yet on this particular morning I could not help but groan at the dull ache, throbbing under every inch of skin- especially around my torso.

Don't you remember Johns? We got into a fight and…

Ignoring Scarecrow and the ache of my body, I ease myself up to sit straight in the spacey bed, allowing the –oddly patterned- white and red duvet to fall from my bandaged body.

Something else is off too: the air smells warm, homely… but what-?

The girl left us tea. Sniggers Scarecrow, before full-out laughing in the back of my mind.

I frown, glaring about the strangely decorated bedroom, and how is tea supposed to help exactly? I ask, now looking at one of the many black and white drawings of some monstrous creature on the slanted walls.

Scarecrow shrugs, like hell I know, why not ask her yourself? She sounded tired before, five a.m. is about the time she finished patching you up, so she'll probably be sleeping by now. Then adds enthusiastically, maybe she'll need a wake up call?

"No," surprised at how horse my voice sounds, I accidentally pause long enough for my devious companion to interrupt.

Aw, he coos, almost sounding concerned, almost. You must have gotten a cold from lying out in the snow for so long… honestly, you should know by now not to try and make snow angels whilst you're in a suit…

Shut up Scarecrow. Growling mentally, I wonder as to how I came to this, not having Scarecrow in my mind, that's fine for me; but being helped by a complete stranger… now that is abnormal…

Surely you're not against random acts of kindness Johnny? I thought that all this was right up you street? Guess I'm wrong and you're just a heartless, little-

I said be quiet.

You can't order me about! Now, why don't you be a good little doctor and go find our coat, hm? It still has some spare gas…

Massaging my temples with –thankfully- warm hands, I try to block out Scarecrow's ramblings for the sakes of having some space to think and for the –much needed- quiet.

…fine, have it your way for now. I'll leave you to your thoughts. Oh! Just before I go, a grin works it's way onto my, no, Scarecrow's face as he settles into a loose control of my body.

"Let me play for… six minutes," rolling his neck, I find-out that my neck can make that meaningless cracking noise, which the bullies at school used to do before a beating. "If you let me play now, then I'll promise to be good later when you need me to-!"

Since Scarecrow's rule over my body is so uncharacteristically weak at the present moment, I easily manage to regain command over my limbs; although not before a warning snarl forces its way through my teeth.

"You'll regret this, Johns! When did you become so-?"

With one last heave, I mange to stop the final words of Scarecrow's threat from leaving my throat.

-boring?

The silence, which I know comes next after making Scarecrow leave, is blissfully serine; albeit perhaps lonely. Reaching over to the lukewarm cup of tea, I sip at it, all the time wishing it was coffee.

A chuckle comes from the back of my mind once more however, not the most gentlemanly comment…

Don't you have plans to be making or something? I smoothly cut in over the voice.

Why yes, yes I do… thank you Johnny.

You are welcome.

Draining the rest of the tea (I suppose it isn't all that bad), I slip from the bed and automatically turn to straighten out the covers when I freeze.

The queer red/white pattern I had noticed before is only on my side of the bed: the haphazard dark crimson pattern is my blood.

"Well then…" I swallow, somewhat astounded by the overwhelming ratio of red to white on the bed. "That isn't particularly healthy."

Regardless, I smooth out the –mostly dry- duvet and flick on the antique bedside light to reveal the rest of the bedroom to my (admittedly shocking) blue eyes.

The amount of games, random dainty ornaments and… teapots? Did come as a bit of surprise to be fair; although not as much as the sight of a certain long chocolate haired woman, with a few cushions and a blanket, sprawled out on the lush red carpet (she must be well paid…) at the foot of the bed.

Speechless for a change, I couldn't help but stare at the young woman as she looked so different to the terrified person in Scarecrow's memories; but then again, everyone looks that way to him: just playthings…

Oddly there is no rebuke, so I continue my analysis of the girl.

Her skin was a healthy peachy colour, if not a tad pale from spending too much time indoors, since her body showed little signs of muscle; although the blanket does cover most of her body. Her face is a stout oval shape, not round or oval, somewhere in-between… it suits her hair-

Oh shut up Johns! Snaps a familiar (and unwelcome) voice, you sound like a lovesick puppy! Honestly… you think she'll fall for someone like you? A cruel laugh rings through my head, as Scarecrow continues. Especially after letting me play with her… yeah, romantic, what a way to go Johnny…

Pushing the pest (I heard that…) to the back of my mind, I tear away my eyes and move to satisfy my most immediate need…

"Where the hell are the rest of my clothes?"

A clattering noise jerks me awake.

"What the-?" Tossing away the blanket I had been sleeping on and several obstructing pillows, I sleepily clamber to my sock-clad feet. The nightdress (long shirt) I wore slips down one shoulder as I walk forward to confront the thief. I'll show them not to steal from me… I wonder if there's any ice-cream left in the freezer?

Rubbing one eye and reaching down with the other hand for the pouch-like pocket which holds my –much needed- navy framed glasses, I find them and slip them on.

Dragging my feet across the cold slate to the kitchen, I almost forgot about the thief when an eerie voice calls out.

"Where did you put our clothes? All I could find was my mask next to the-"

Groaning and smashing my face between my hands, my mind begins its assault: how can you forget that there's a psychopath in your home? Wait, let's rephrase that… how can you forget that there's a half naked psychopath wandering about your apartment looking for his shoes; socks; shirt; coat and oh look! At least he's found his terrifying mask! Now then: option one, scream and run; or option two: beg for your life?

Promptly forgetting my inner dialogue, I stare at the man's bandaged torso and try to keep a sleepy grin from my face… and fail dismally.

"You should really put a shirt on," I manage before having to gaze at a very interesting piece of slate on the floor. Then –upon realising my tiredness induced mistake- I add, "your stuff's just been soaked in the sink and is hanging up to dry at the moment: I can't get the blood off, sorry…"

The silence which follows is intense, deafening even. So I wrap my arms around myself and glance up to steal a picture of-

"Oh crikey!" I exclaim, jumping terribly at the sudden closeness of the doctor. His mask had gone, left on the counter behind him.

"What am I to do for clothes then?" Crane asks, his eyes piercing my own as they warily watch his every move with fear.

"Uh, there are some…" I mumble, trailing off with a feeling of heat upon my cheeks.

"Some what?"

"Some shirts of mine that might fit you…" I rub my arms nervously and glance sideways then back again aversely, "although they might be a bit miss fitting, since well, you're slightly taller than me and your arms are definitely longer and you don't have bo-"

"Enough." Crane huffs once, his bare shoulders lifting up once then down again. "Stop rambling; where can I find these shirts?"

He's annoyed with me, I give a single minute shiver of worry; don't make him angry for goodness sake… Realising that I was taking far too long to answer, I panic for a moment as his eyes turn colder than my blood and he glares down into me, like he can read my mind…

Shivering again more visibly this time, I turn on my –fluffy- socked heel and lead the way back to my room.

"Th-the wardrobe's just through here," my voice calls, sounding quieter than usual. Surprisingly Crane hears me (or just guesses) and shadows my path as we return to the room.

I glance at the bed and feel a jolt as I notice that it had been made.

"Thanks," I say warmly, not caring at the moment for who the man is, only that the act seems so gentlemanly that I am thrown slightly by it.

Crane doesn't say anything, but I imagine that he nods in acknowledgement.

Easing open the wardrobe doors, I pull out a long sleeved white shirt like the one Doctor Crane had been wearing earlier and a neon green blazer with multiple badges on it (the closest item of clothing which I owned to a suit jacket). Passing those to the glasses wearing-

"You have glasses?" I blurt out before thinking, earning me a disapproving look for my stupidity "I mean, you weren't wearing them before is all. When you had the mask… um, at least your vision isn't that bad then, if you don't need them all the time- lucky." Letting a laugh escape my smiling lips, I hope that the mention of the mask won't bring back the 'fear talks'…

"I won't need this," Crane –unsurprisingly- passes me back the blazer with a ghost of a smile, "thank you."

At that small display of kindness my heart begins to race and-!

"No worries," I turn and hunt for some normal-looking socks to distract myself from the thoughts of the man behind me, "ah-ha! Found some, I hope you're okay with scarecrows." Holding them out to Crane, he slowly, somewhat cautiously takes them from my hand. All the while, his frosty eyes trying to catch my own suspiciously.

He probably thinks this is some sort of joke.

"Sorry," glancing tensely at his face, "all my other socks are stranger. Apparently these are the most 'business friendly', since they're so dark… or so my last boss told me." It was most certainly true about them being dark- and in more ways than one: the colouration was limited to shades of grey and brown and as for the scarecrows themselves… they were… having a tea party with the Mad Hatter and a flock of crows.

"Any others?" Drawls the doctor, handing back the outlandish socks, his knuckles unusually white from keeping a tight fist for so long.

That time he saw me shiver.

"I-I'll j-just check…!"

After a few lucky seconds of searching, I drew back confident that these socks will be more acceptable.

The expression on the fear-loving doctor's face was priceless as I gave him the socks with man eating wombats on.

There was a momentary pause until,

"I'll go get changed in the bathroom…"