I'm well aware of how contrived this all is. But that's just the magic of fanfiction.

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Arkham Asylum, Jonathan knew the inside of its walls better than he liked to admit. The memories of his eighteen month residency in that museum of medieval medical practices would still sometimes come to Jonathan during his self-testing sessions. Images of skeletal men and woman clawing their way out from the shadows, shrieking in pain only to be beaten into bloody piles by faceless guards. Often a phantosmia of sweat and urine would accompany the visual hallucinations as well as temporary delusional parasitosis which would cause Jonathan to madly scratch at his skin until his sanity resumed at daybreak.

Jonathan felt his senses leave at Judge Wayne's sentencing. Edward was many things, but mad enough to warrant a one way ticket to that living hell was not one of them. It would literally devour him whole. Crush his bones, drain his spirit, steal his breath and in the end all there would be is a wasted corpse dropped into an unmarked grave, it's face twisted up for all eternity in one last frozen scream.

He thought of Edward's face in the wavering candlelight light of their so-called date. That easy smile, those shining green eyes so full of life and wonder even while discussing the ills he had suffered. Jonathan could not let Arkham snuff out that boy's light, not if he had anything to do with it.

"Excuse me!" The effort he exerted to push himself up nearly toppled him but Jonathan was quick to parlay it into the needed momentum to move him towards the judge's bench.

"Excuse you indeed!" Bellowed Dent, "Who the hell are you and by what authority do you interrupt this trial?" Jonathan did not respond, his brain had barely even registered what the district attorney was saying. The man had failed to do his job, leaving Jonathan to clean up the mess. Incompetence was quite easily Jonathan's least favorite human flaw.

"Judge Wayne," Jonathan looked directly into the eyes of the man he was addressing, ignoring the clear confusion they were expressing, "My name is Professor Jonathan Crane, I teach psychological studies at Gotham University."

"Are you a, uh," Judge Wayne hemmed, "a character witness for Mr. Nygma?" Jonathan realized he must have looked a sight, making a plea before a judge in his worn day-off cardigan, the red and black sweater vest Harleen had knitted for him with the lopsided argyle print and a porkpie hat whose retirement Jervis had been advocating for quite some time.

"I would like to be, if it pleases the court."

"It does not," said Dent.

"I will make that decision," Judge Wayne gave Dent a warning glare. "Professor Crane, do you have a previous relationship with Mr. Nygma? A student teacher relationship, I mean," he quickly corrected.

"More like doctor patient." Jonathan's words were effortlessly believable. Even Edward, who had rooted out the great lie of the professor's hated accent, almost found himself accepting this false redefining of their relationship as fact. "About two weeks ago, I encountered a distressed Mr. Nygma at the university. He appeared, as I observed it, to be suffering some sort of existential crisis."

"In English, if you would please Professor," said Judge Wayne.

"My apologies. Mr. Nygma expressed to me great feelings of hopelessness over his," Jonathan paused, "occupational situation. He was anxious for escape from his life of debauchery but felt that there were no options to do so. Going to the police would only result in arrest so he decided to see if the university could help him find a new life path. After Mr. Nygma explained his wretched situation to me I promised to not only help him turn his life around but also offered my services as a trained psychologist pro bono." Judge Wayne folded his arms before him and leaned in over the bench.

"And in the little time you've spent with Mr. Nygma, what have you assessed about his mental state?"

Jonathan sighed as he glanced over to Edward. The boy looked at Jonathan for what he was: a lifeline, and his very last at that. Edward clearly understood how grim his position was.

"Mr. Nygma does have some concerning issues. Patient doctor confidentiality prohibits me from elaborating further but we have had a few discussions involving his home life as a child and I feel there is a strong correlation between his current behaviors and the dysfunctional relationship he shared with his father."

"A prostitute with an unhealthy relationship with their father?" Dent chuckled, "I would hardly call that a startling revelation, Professor."

"That's more or less my point," Jonathan snapped at the DA, "his mental crisis is nothing so drastic it would warrant placement in an insane asylum. I personally feel that with a bit of guidance, a few weekly therapy sessions and, obviously, a career change that Mr. Nygma could quite easily be the productive member of society you wish him to be."

"How would you feel about me sending Mr. Nygma to Blackgate?" Asked Judge Wayne.

"I am only concerned that he stay out of Arkham," Jonathan said plainly, "from a professional standpoint I can see no gain in that course of action." Again, Judge Wayne became silent in thought. His eyes drifted between the professor and prostitute and for a moment Jonathan wondered if perhaps Judge Wayne was suspicious of their relationship. The last thing he needed then with his body being so stiff and weak was to be labeled a john and tossed into a freezing cold cell. It would serve him right though, letting himself once again get entangled in the affairs of Edward Nygma. Some dark part of Jonathan wondered if the two of them managed to escape this episode that they would forever be doomed to loop in and out of each other's lives, their existences crossing over every few years or so in some disastrous eclipse.

"Professor Crane," Judge Wayne said slowly, "I knew that name sounded familiar. My young ward attends your survey psychology class; Dick Grayson. Perhaps you know him?" Edward noticed a slight falter in Jonathan's grip on his walking stick. The stern expression he always wore was trying to force itself into a broad smile. It was not a pretty thing to watch.

"Know him? He's one of my top students, a very intelligent young man. I did not realize that he was in your charge."

"I took him in when he was eleven years old," said Judge Wayne, "his parents, like my own, were murdered in cold blood before his very eyes. With nowhere to go I opened up my home and raised him to be the fine young man he is today." It would have been impossible for Jonathan not to recall the night he found the boy with illegal narcotics in a bar bathroom.

"You must be so proud."

"I am," Judge Wayne took in a deep breath, "you know, one of the programs I have established seeks to find homes and safe places for young children who have been the victims of crime. I'm sure you would agree that the best way to help those at risk is to catch them early before they end up like Mr. Nygma here."

"Almost certainly early intervention is key," said Jonathan. He often wondered what sort of man he would have grown to be had his mother decided to take him with her when she fled Alma. There was little doubt in Jonathan's mind that he would have fared better with his unwed, teenage mother then those harpies whom he was forced to call Granny and Great-Gran.

"I am wondering if there's still time for an intervention on Mr. Nygma's life," Judge Wayne leaned back in his chair, once more moving his intense gaze along the invisible line between Edward and Jonathan. It were almost as if he believed the answer to problem brought before him was hiding within that space. "Mr. Nygma, please stand for resentencing," he said finally. The cuffs that still bound Edward's wrist rang as he moved to his feet. "Thanks to the insight of Professor Crane I have decided to lessen the severity of your sentence."

"Thank you, your honor," Edward sounded as if he were about to break down. He looked to Jonathan with wide, dewy eyes, "Thank you, Professor."

"Instead you will be committed to the custody of Professor Jonathan Crane for a term no less than six months." Dead silence filled the court room.

"What do you mean," Jonathan broke it with a hushed voice, 'committed to custody?"

"Meaning you are now in charge of Mr. Nygma's welfare," Judge Wayne said quite matter-of-factly. "When six months have passed he will be brought back here and you will give me a full report of his progress, at which point I will either drop his charges and allow his release back into society or, in the event of an unfavorable report, send him to Blackgate for eighteen more months."

"A full report?" Jonathan spat, "Am I to understand that you have drafted me as this young man's guardian as well as personal psychologist?"

"You told me you were already seeing him as a patient."

"Well, yes, I did say that but, that was at the university and," Jonathan gasped, "my God, you expect him to live with me in my home, don't you?"

"That is the idea," said Judge Wayne, "as a college professor I assume you can offer an excellent example to Mr. Nygma as to how a clean, decent and respectable person governs their life."

"This is madness!" Harvey Dent cried, "We cannot go around delegating the responsibility of rehabilitating criminals to," he looked Jonathan up and down with a sneer, "average citizens."

"Damnation! If you had done your job half way right none of us would even be in the position we are in now!"

"I was doing just fine until he," Harvey blindly threw an arm at Edward's general direction, "opened his mouth!"

"My point exactly!" Jonathan barked back, taking a few wobbling steps towards the DA, "If you knew anything about the boy you were prosecuting you would know that only misery and misfortune follows any time he opens his mouth. He's a literal Pandora's box and damn you for allowing him to release his evils!" The heavy banging of the gavel echoed through the courtroom.

"Enough!" Shouted Judge Wayne, "Professor Crane, I have made my decision. If you do not wish to accept it and help Mr. Nygma then I will reinstate my original sentence and have Dr. Strange over at Arkham take care of him."

"No," Edward mewled from behind Jonathan, "please, Professor. You gotta help me, please. Don't let him send me to the nut house, I'll never get out. Nobody ever gets out of Arkham." Nobody ever did. Why Judge Wayne put so much faith in that failed institution Jonathan could not understand. There was a certain childlike innocence to Judge Wayne, a trusting nature that seemed so unsuited for a man with his past. It would have been admirable if it had not put Jonathan in such a terrible position.

"Professor Crane, will you or will you not accept my decision?"

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The front door of apartment one slammed and rattled a few of the glass shades on the wall sconces. An awkward mix of two tired legs trying to move with a third false one could be heard in the living room. Jervis made sure the sherry and the drinking glasses were all aesthetically arranged on the serving tray before bringing it out to be enjoyed.

"Jonathan, I was expecting you back a little bit sooner, but-"

"Jervis!" Jonathan cried, not even bothering to turn and look at the man, "The next time you have an insightful idea, keep it to yourself!"

"I'm guessing the wine then is not appreciated?"

"Wine?" At this Jonathan advanced upon Jervis to look over the lovingly staged tray in his arms, "I was half expecting to come home and have you offer me some rusty nails and a mallet so I might hammer them into my eyes!"

"Are you going to explain to me as to why you're in such a state or just continue on in his unflattering way?"

"No," Jonathan grabbed the sherry bottle of the tray, "what is going to happen I am going to take this to my room and barricade the door. You are going to go into the spare room and dress the bed there because around, I believe the judge said eight, we are going to be expecting a very lovely guest from the central police station lock up!"