Okay guys, so, I rewrote the ending of this chapter a bit, since I realized I might have mishandled the Scarecrow's characterization a bit.
Let me just explain, it isn't at all my intention to make Jonathan seem weak or frail. Just obviously, when stood next to the Joker, who's an extremely intense character, and an extremely dangerous character, Jonathan isn't going to be foolish, and isn't going to engage, physically, with the bigger and stronger man. If he was going to fight the Joker, it would be with his brain, with his toxin, no doubt.
Let me know if you like it better. Sorry for the abrupt change!
Chapter 21:
The bullet grazed along his upper right arm, just grazed, tearing open his uniform sleeve and peeling back layers of skin.
And Jonathan lost his hold, the pain flaring. He could feel his grip along the fencing loosen, feel himself falling backwards, the Joker staring down at him, moving further away.
And in that moment, Jonathan knew it was over, knew he wasn't going to make it. Knew any second now he would feel the harsh impact of the ground as he landed flat against it, on his back, the wind knocked from him. And if he was lucky, the guards wouldn't kill him, they'd only beat the living hell out of him before dragging him to the infirmary, or more likely, back to his cell, where they'd let him suffer a long while.
That's how it all played out in his mind, as he watched in seeming slow motion, the Joker move further away, a rush ripping down through his stomach, the sensation of falling.
That's what was going to happen.
But then there was that pain in his wrist again, the feeling of his bones being compressed, being crushed. He felt it before it even registered to him that the Joker had shifted forward, leaned down, and it was equally as surreal, as he occurred to him that suddenly the Joker was moving closer. Or was it himself moving closer? Being pulled up?
He got his answer when he felt a harsh tug, and all of the sound came rushing in on him, a cacophony of voices, shouting, screaming behind them, telling them to stop, to freeze, and then he heard the Joker's own voice, telling him to climb, grunting low as he strained to lift Jonathan's body up, over the barbed wire.
The pain as the front of his torso caught hold of that razor edged catastrophe was worse then anything he could have imagined, and he wondered in the back of his mind how it was the Joker hadn't screamed out in agony, sitting perched atop it as he was, gripping to it tightly, unrelentingly, because the next sound to bombard his senses was that of his own voice, broken and shrill, crying out as his uniform and flesh was torn to shreds.
"Climb!" He again heard the Joker shout in his face, his usual nasal tone turning to gravel.
Clearly, the man wasn't playing.
Jonathan tried, at least, he thought he did, his feet kicking uselessly against the gating, trying to find some kind of hold, his wounded arm coming up, grabbing hold of the Joker's own.
But it seemed he wasn't getting anywhere, like suddenly they'd stopped moving.
And now the frustration was evident on the Joker's face.
Jonathan thought how strange it was the Joker had anything but pure terror in his expression, as he was sure his own features reflected.
The madman growled in annoyance, pulling his arm from the former psychiatrist's weak grip.
"This is gonna hurt." He said to the Scarecrow.
And before Jonathan had a chance to ask him what he meant, the Joker had reached down with the hand previously holding to the barbed wire, burying it in the collar of Jonathan's uniform, and proceeded to pull him up, not seeming too concerned with how the entire length of the Scarecrow's form dragged along the wire, not seeming to care as the Scarecrow screamed out, bloody murder, his voice a choked and gargled desperation.
The Joker had let go of the fence, completely let go, and was falling backwards, lettinghimself fall backwards, holding to Jonathan's wrist and shirt, dragging him over with the momentum of gravity.
The pain filled Jonathan's mind. That's all he could focus on, all he could concentrate on, the nine foot fall not even registering as he prayed to whatever cruel force it was that governed the universe to make it stop, to kill all feeling in his body.
Jonathan had never been the type to pray.
But then, he'd never felt anything quite this horrific.
What was seconds seemed to stretch on for minutes, and the jolt of hitting the pavement finally shook him in to the present.
He realized he was lying on top of the Joker, and that it had been the madman who'd hit the ground, back first, the impact he himself felt greatly reduced, most of it having been absorbed already.
He stared dazedly down at the Joker, surprised, though he knew he really shouldn't have been, to see the lunatic still conscious, and not just that, fullyaware, if the wideness of his eyes was any indication.
The Scarecrow found himself marveling over how it was the Joker wasn't gasping for breath, how it was he wasn't sputtering and choking as he tried to force the air back in to his lungs.
He didn't have long to wonder though, as suddenly the Joker was pushing him up by the shoulder's, off of him. And Jonathan's own pain came crashing back, to the forefront of his mind, and all he could do then was crumple, curl in on himself as another scream tore from his throat.
Somewhere in the back of his head, there was a voice telling him he was making a fool of himself, that he sounded like a complete idiot. But his body didn't seem to care about the humiliation of it all. It only cared that it had been torn open and was bleeding, if the rapidly spreading stains of red on the front of his uniform were any clue, profusely.
Somewhere in the periphery of his vision, he saw the Joker get to his feet.
And then his voice.
"Stop crying." He said. And when Jonathan looked up, he saw the front of the madman's uniform was just as torn, just as blood stained as his own, and he realized the Joker had been ripped open as badly as he had.
But the Joker wasn't screaming.
The Joker had barely a sign of discomfort on his face even, save for the slight furrowing of his brow and the way his lips curled only vaguely down at the corners.
He was holding his hand out to Jonathan, and again the Scarecrow saw the way his fingertips had been sliced wide, dripping blood on to the dirty concrete below them.
"We have to go."
Jonathan blinked at his hand, wanting nothing more then to just lay down where he was and disappear in to blackness.
His moment of hesitation seemed to agitate the Joker, and before he knew it, the lunatic had grabbed hold of his collar again and was yanking him to his feet.
"Follow me." He said, his voice heavy and unsympathetic.
And then Jonathan was watching him turn, watching him sprint off in the opposite direction, away from the asylum, and again he wondered how it was he was even walking, let alone running.
The sound of more screaming, and then gunfire, a bullet ricocheting off of the fence, and once more the Scarecrow was pulled back to the current situation.
The guards were coming, so close behind them, heading towards the gate entrance, opening it up electronically.
All this suffering just to be immediately recaptured and thrown back in the madhouse didn't, at that moment, seem quite appealing to the former psychiatrist. And it was with that realization, he also found the will in him, somehow, to go stumbling after the Joker, already some forty yards ahead.
/
The Joker had taken a turn in to an alleyway shortly after, and was now leading the two of them through a maze of the things, headed this way and that, seeming to duck in to one and out another at random, without thought.
Jonathan found himself having a world of difficulty keeping pace, his breathing harsh and ragged as his pain continued to consume him.
But the Joker wasn't slowing down, the only indication he was injured at all the steady trail of blood he left behind wherever he went.
Finally the Scarecrow could take no more, his frustration, the sinking feeling of desperation and hopelessness taking hold. It hadn't yet sunk in for him that they'd actually gotten out. That they'd escaped Arkham Asylum.
But the lunatic seemed to be leading them astray, leading them no where, and Jonathan felt certain, if he didn't stop, his heart beating as hard as it was, that it might pump all of his blood from his veins, out through the lacerations along his skin. And that, surely, from this he would die.
"Whe… where are we… going?" He spit, staggering after the Joker, lagging some twenty feet behind. He never would have caught up, he thought, if the Joker hadn't paused briefly at the entrance of the second alley he'd dove in to, trying, apparently, to decide which direction was best.
As if it hardly mattered at this point, the former psychiatrist thought bitterly. The Joker seemed to have no plan, no place he was going.
The Joker didn't answer him, continuing forward, and Jonathan had no choice but to follow after him. It was either that or stop and collapse, like he knew his body wanted him to, and just wait to bleed out in some smelly, forgotten back alley of Gotham, probably not to be discovered for weeks, months, years! Maybe never.
It took him by surprise then when the Joker suddenly stopped, without warning of any kind and said…
"Here. Help me lift this up."
Jonathan stared blankly at him a long moment, completely lost as to what he was referring to.
And then the Joker gestured down, and as the Scarecrow's gaze moved to the spot, he saw the madman was standing beside a manhole.
His eyes went wide.
"You c-can't be s-serious!" He said. "T… the s-sewer?"
"We can't, uh, stay aboveground right now." The Joker answered him. "They'll find us if we do."
Jonathan found it in him to actually scoff.
"I'm not… I'm not s-splashing around in this city's w-waste!"
The Joker smiled.
"You'll, uh, you'll be a part of this city's waste if you don't."
The former psychiatrist stared back at him, as if challenging him to show he wasn't joking. The look of smug amusement on the Joker's face wasn't helping him to believe it.
"… Isn't… i-isn't there anywhere… anywhere else?"
"No can do kiddo." The Joker shook his head. "Unless you want to wind up back therrre…" He nodded in the direction of the asylum. "I suggest you help me."
His smirk widened to a grin.
"And besides, I know you aren't unfamiliaaar with Gotham's underground sewer system."
Jonathan looked back, incredulous a moment.
"What if…" He started. "What if the water gets in to our wounds? We'll… we'll be infected."
The Joker laughed.
"This isn't 28 Days Later Johnny. And anyway, it's either that, or we go back to Arkham, likely in a, uh, in a body bag, angry as those guards sounded, and despondent as I know the police will beee."
The Scarecrows eyes finally fell, resting on the filth ridden ground beneath him, and shook his head.
The Joker was right. Much as he hated to admit it, the Joker was right. If they stayed up here, they were going to be caught, and at this point, especially after all those people the Joker had killed, they would take the both of them dead or alive, whichever came easiest.
"Fine…" He began, limping over to where the Joker stood. "What do you want me t-to do?" He was beginning to feel faint.
"That's a champ!" The Joker crowed, socking him on the shoulder. And Jonathan winced in pain.
Again he questioned how it was the Joker had so much energy, how it was he didn't seem at all affected by the injuries he'd very obviously sustained.
But now wasn't the time for such questions, wasn't the time for anything but to get out of view.
"Here…" The Joker started, grabbing hold a piece of rebar which just happened to be lying behind a nearby trashcan. It occurred very suddenly to Jonathan that the Joker must have done this before. "You use this to pry the lid up, and I'll, uh, pull it free."
It all seemed slightly unreal to Jonathan as he took the bar of metal and did as he was instructed, jamming its end in to a hole along the lid's top and pressing down on the other end with all his weight. It took some effort, but finally the thing began to rise up, and the Joker grabbed hold of it, dragging it across the ground until half the opening beneath was revealed.
He held his hand out.
"Here…" He said, and Jonathan stared blankly at him.
The Joker rolled his eyes up.
"The rebar." He said, his voice low.
The Scarecrow blinked.
"… Oh." He said, handing it back to the madman, who took it and placed it back carefully from where he'd retrieved it.
And then he stood aside, smiling.
"You first, Johnny boy!"
/
The Joker dropped from the ladder half way down it, splashing in to the few inches of water beneath.
Jonathan, he'd thought, had taken his sweet time getting down it himself, actually stepping from the thing on its last rung.
Still, as he looked at him now, his eyes scanning around the mostly dark corridor they found themselves in, he had to admit a kind of… respect for the former psychiatrist.
After all, he was still here. That was more then he could say for what most people would have achieved, given the situation they only just escaped.
Indeed, the Scarecrow was made of tougher stuff then he appeared, which the Joker had suspected, something he was sure Jonathan himself wasn't even really aware of. Which was why he'd helped him up when he'd fallen, back at Arkham, which was why he'd dragged him up those last, few feet, over the barbed wire, and why he hadn't yet ditched him.
Jonathan Crane, the Joker was sure, would be able to serve some use.
Smug and full of himself as he was. At least it was moderately deserved. Not like half the idiots he found himself forced to work with, those ones who actually were stupid enough to think they could somehow fool him.
Jonathan wasn't dense enough for something like that. Often the way towards assessing another person's intelligence was whether or not they could gage your own.
Oh, he knew Johnny wanted very much to study him, to analyze and dissect him, as any good psychiatrist would, wanted to see for himself if he really waswithout fear. And the Joker knew, eventually, ol' Johnny would indeed try. Not because he thought he could fool him, no, but because he simply would be unable to help himself. The Scarecrow was, after all, a compulsive sadist, and endlessly curious.
But the Joker wasn't worried. He would take it as it came.
In the meantime, he intended for the good doctor to share with him his connections.
All that, of course, would have to wait, until they could tend to their scraps and bruises. The Scarecrow looked as though he might faint, and the Joker smiled at the sight.
The cuts and lacerations were so shallow. Hardly anything to notice even.
He could tell Johnny had never experienced any real pain.
At least, not the physical kind.
Mentally, emotionally, that was an entirely different story. Of that kind, the Joker could see Jonathan had suffered a great deal.
The Scarecrow was staring at him, his expression a mixture of both annoyance and fascination, and the Joker grinned his way.
"Come on." He said, moving past him.
"Where are we going?" Jonathan asked, his tone more suggestive of a demand.
"Just about a, uh, a kilometerahead. I've got medical supplies. Since you seem so… disturbed by your injuries."
"… Medical supplies?" The Scarecrow questioned, incredulous.
"Well ya know Scary… in this line of work, it helps to be preparrred."
Jonathan kept himself from scoffing, refraining from pointing out the obvious fact that it was the Joker's own recklessness and unpredictability which had gotten them in to this predicament to begin with.
If the madman had simply stuck with his plan of manipulating Dr. Bartholomew in to helping them escape, though the Scarecrow had had serious doubts about the likelihood of such a plan working, it would have prevented them from sustaining the injuries they had and they wouldn't have been forced in to this… this muckjust to evade capture!
The Joker glanced back at him, smirking, seeing the look of frustration and anger on Jonathan's face.
"You, uh, coming, or are ya just gonna stand there and let yourself bleeed?"
The Scarecrow's lips twisted in to a frown, but the Joker hardly seemed to notice, his smile widening as he turned back forward and started down the tunnel.
He heard Jonathan breath out, exasperated, followed only a moment later by the former psychiatrist's reluctant steps, splashing in the water.
It would be another twenty minutes before they arrived to where the Joker was taking them, a concrete landing, about three feet up from the water they walked in, and a door framed in the brick wall beside it.
The door was metal and rusted in spots, looked as though it hadn't been seen or used in ages.
The Joker hauled himself up on to the landing, his canvassed shoes and the bottom of his pants completely soaked through with the sewers filth, and Jonathan's nose crinkled, knowing his would be the same.
The Scarecrow watched, not moving, as the Joker went for the door, taking hold of its handle and, with a strong tug, pulled it open.
It screeched loudly along its hinges as it moved, the sound echoing off the cavernous walls, and Jonathan couldn't help flinching at the invasive noise.
The Joker looked over his shoulder at him
"Coming?" He asked, before turning again and moving through the door.
Jonathan watched, frozen a moment, until he realized suddenly that the lunatic had disappeared in to the dark, that he could no longer see him.
A kind of chill ran through the former psychiatrist as he glanced about himself, and the oppressive silence which he only now seemed to take note of filled his ears.
Without further thought, he scampered on to the landing, the pain of his injuries making it difficult as he dragged himself up. And again the question of how the Joker had made it appear so effortless past through his mind, how it was he seemed to feel nothing at all.
He hurried through the door which the Joker had disappeared in to, and for a brief moment, found himself taken by panic as he was engulfed by pitch black.
He stumbled forward, groping blindly ahead.
And then his foot caught something, and he fell fast, a sharp gasp escaping his throat. His hands shot out to catch himself, a pained groan following as he impacted the ground.
There was a soft chuckling, coming from somewhere ahead, and Jonathan looked up, his eyes fighting to find something in the darkness.
"W-where are you?" He stuttered, trying to calm himself.
"Right… here…" He heard the Joker say.
The next moment, the Scarecrow's eyes filled with blinding light, and his lids closed in automatic response.
Silence followed, and slowly, Jonathan's eyes opened, trying to adjust to the brightness.
As he did, he made out the Joker, standing a few feet ahead of him, grinning down at him, clear amusement in his eyes.
"How ya like it down there Johnny?" He said.
And before the Scarecrow had even a chance to think of a biting response, the madman had turned from him, beginning towards the spaces back wall.
Jonathan's eyes followed him, to a line of dust ridden and broken shelving, containing various items, which the Joker promptly began to rifle through.
And it was then the former psychiatrist noticed the rest of the place, brick walls and a concrete floor, small with two light fixtures above, hung from the ceiling, one burnt out.
As his eyes scanned the corners, he saw a filthy looking mattress, lying flat on the ground, a thin looking blanket bunched up at its end and a stiff pillows at its head, covered, distinctive even from here, with smeared pant, white and black and red.
There were books scattered along the floor, Jonathan saw, and glancing at the title of one, he saw it read "The Old Man and the Sea".
In the corner opposite the mattress, there was a rickety looking table, also covered in dust, and papers, pens and pencils strewn across.
It dawned on him quickly then, this was a place of refuge for the Joker, a "hideout", as the media liked to call such things.
And the next thought to pass through his mind was a question. Wondering why it was the lunatic would reveal the place to him.
He'd obviously stayed here, presumably often; slept here.
His eyes moved back to where the Joker was still fooling around, mumbling to himself, his words indiscernible.
And a sudden fear gripped Jonathan, as it occurred to him his situation. That he really didn't know where he was, that he was trapped, underground, with the most dangerous and volatile criminal Gotham City had ever known.
That should he choose to, the Joker could very easily kill him, and the Scarecrow realized with dismay that there would be nothing he could do about it. There was no fighting back against the madman, not if what he'd seen him do to those guards back at Arkham was any indication of what, physically, he was capable of. And there was no place for him to run, not without becoming hopelessly lost, and very clearly the Joker knew these tunnels well.
He would find him, doubtless.
Trying hard to control the shaking in his voice, the Scarecrow forced himself to speak.
"What…" He paused, clearing his throat. "What are you doing?"
Some seconds past, the Joker seeming to ignore his question altogether, and Jonathan frowned, thinking he wasn't going to receive an answer.
But then, abruptly, the Joker turned, holding against his chest several items.
"I, uh, assume you know how to wrap woundsss?" He said, staring pointedly at the former psychiatrist.
Jonathan blinked back, saying nothing.
"Here." The Joker said, tossing something his way.
The Scarecrow caught it, just barely keeping it from hitting his face, and when he looked down at the item in his hand, he saw it was a bottle of peroxide. A moment later and the Joker tossed something else at him, these items landing on the ground, a few inches ahead, a roll of gauze and a small wash cloth.
Jonathan gazed up, staring at him.
But by then the Joker had looked away and was moving towards the mattress.
The Scarecrow watched as he lowered himself on to it, holding a second bottle of peroxide and roll of gauze against his chest, as well as a cloth of his own. He carried the items like a child might.
Quickly, he placed the things aside, then took hold the hem of his shirt, beginning to pull it up.
Jonathan looked on him in fascination, taking in the Joker's form as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it away.
His entire torso was covered in blood, torn flesh visible beneath the red. And where blood wasn't smeared, he could see the deep and horrible bruising, blue and purple and black, older bruises fading yellow and green.
Jonathan knew immediately the source of that bruising.
Those Arkham orderlies, the one's who'd decided the Joker would be their new toy, their punching bag, to take out all of their frustrations and feelings of inadequacy on.
The sight of it infuriated Jonathan.
Not that he particularly cared for the Joker. He even thought he might very well hate the man, obnoxious as he was.
But that didn't change the fact that the Joker was indeed brilliant, indeed, a superiorkind of being. One whom those imbecilic orderlies had no right to treat as they had. The fools! They'd had no idea what the Joker even was. They'd thought of him as just some… some freak, an object to gratify their own, sadistic tendencies, knowing all the while they never would have to pay for it.
At this thought the Scarecrow smiled.
That's what they'd thoughtanyway.
But very clearly, they had paid for it.
The Joker should be studied, Jonathan thought, not used as a chew toy.
He continued to watch as the Joker pulled off his still wet shoes and then began to remove his pants, his expression giving no indication to whether or not he was experiencing any sort of discomfort. Though one only had to take in the state of his body to know he was.
His legs too were covered in blood and also deeply bruised.
The Scarecrow found the madman's body intriguing.
He was lean, bordering on skinny, not at all muscular, but sinewy, and very long. His chest was flat, his shoulder's broad, but not incredibly so.
The strongest looking part of him, Jonathan noted, appeared to be his calves, more thickly built then his arms or the rest of his upper half.
It wasn't the type of body one typically would associate with physical strength.
But looks were deceiving, because the Joker was strong, Jonathan knew that.
It was strange, he thought, seeing the Joker like this, unclothed and bleeding, horribly battered, so obviously the victim of a brutal attack.
And yet, the Joker didn't at all seem victimized.
He didn't appear weak, or vulnerable, or pitiful in any way, despite his ravaged condition.
He appeared as invincible as ever, as forceful, nearly naked and so clearly wounded.
Watching him, the Scarecrow realized, it was all in the Joker's personality, all in the way he carried himself, conducted himself; in his energy, the absolute ceaselessness of it.
The Joker picked up the wash cloth and began to pour the bottle of peroxide on to it before bringing it to his open lacerations, cleaning them, washing the blood away.
The Scarecrow knew it must have burned terribly, but the Joker didn't flinch.
He glanced up at Jonathan, smirking.
"Like what you, uh, see, big boy?" He laughed quietly, and Jonathan frowned, looking away.
"Not hardly." He muttered.
"You might want to get to yourself." He heard the lunatic continue in that odd, disjointed way he had of speaking.
Silence fell between them a long moment.
The Scarecrow didn't particularly relish the idea of undressing in front of the Joker, knowing the madman's propensity for childish insults and expertise in making one feel both uncomfortable and embarrassed.
But, he supposed with annoyance, he didn't have much of a choice. His wounds needed tending, or there was risk of infection.
He glanced up one last time at the Joker, who by now had cleaned a large portion of the blood away from his chest and stomach, as well as his face, blood from the guards he'd bludgeoned. The light spattering of freckles he had across his nose and cheeks stood out under the too bright light from above, and Jonathan thought how odd a feature it was on the madman. Such an innocent, child-like feature.
His eyes roamed lower. And it was now the former psychiatrist noticed the numerous and ugly scars which covered the Joker, seemingly top to bottom, from his collarbone down to his abdomen, and below. None perhaps quite so gruesome as those which ruined his otherwise handsome face, but still, gnarled and savage enough.
Those scars on his face though, those scars the Scarecrow found himself desperately wanting to ask the Joker about, which he would have asked about, if he wasn't so certain the lunatic would have spun him a tall tale.
Once more, Jonathan found himself wondering, trying to understand how it was someone who'd obviously been through the worst kind of physical trauma was even still alive.
Like all things with the Joker, it seemed to defy logic.
He should be dead.
Maybe he wasn't human at all, the Scarecrow thought. Maybe he really was a force, as so many thought, unstoppable, un-killable.
Jonathan shook his head.
But that was absurd.
The Joker was made of flesh and blood and bone, the same as he.
What had kept him alive was his will. And maybe it didn't seem so very unusual then. Didn't seem so strange.
When one had a will as the Joker had, it even made a kind of sense, that he'd survived things which most surely would have killed any other man.
The former psychiatrist blinked, only just noticing how wrapped up he'd become in his thoughts, suddenly, unwelcomingly aware of his own, physical pain. His body, doubtless, was in a state similar to the Joker's own, save for the horrendous bruising and deep scarring of days past.
Finally he shifted, pushing himself with effort to his feet and beginning to undress.
He prayed silently that the Joker would simply ignore him as he did so.
To Jonathan's mild surprise, he did. He supposed he had the fact the Joker was busy wrapping himself in gauze to thank for that.
As he pulled his shirt up over his head, dropping it to the ground and looked down upon his own, blood ridden torso, the Scarecrow actually felt queasy, a rush of dizziness crashing through his skull.
He'd never seen so much blood coming from himself before.
He didn't much like it.
He kicked off his shoes and, with shaking hands, began to pull down his pants, his legs too covered in crimson and flayed open.
That had done it.
Jonathan couldn't help it as he turned, quickly, and doubled over, the bile rising quick from his stomach, forcing itself in to his throat, in to his mouth and then past his lips, heaving all over the floor.
Whooping laughter rose up from the Joker's corner, and the Scarecrow didn't even bother to turn and glare at him, feeling suddenly too weak as he collapsed down on to his knees, his arms shaking as he leaned forward on to them, the events of the last hour and a half finally catching up with him.
He was exhausted, and the sight of his own, profuse blood flow had pushed him over the edge in to realizing it.
"W-what's the matterJohnny?" The Joker managed between his hysterics. "I th-thought you were a doctor? Shouldn't you, ya know, be used to this kind of, uh, stuff?"
Jonathan shook his head, feeling annoyance rise up in him.
"Not that kind of doctor…" He murmured, his voice weak.
"Ohhh, that's right. I, uh, forgot." The Joker went on. "You're a head doc, more used to dealing innnn… chemicals and serumsss… not so used to the grittydetails of the human bodyyy…"
Jonathan said nothing to that, and a moment later, he was again vomiting on to the floor.
And again the Joker was laughing, his mirth stretching on for nearly a minute as the Scarecrow slumped forward, the shaking in his limbs becoming more apparent.
"Hey…" The lunatic finally started, reigning his laughter in. "Hey, uh, Scarechum, you gonna dress your wounds or am I, uh, am I gonna have to do it foryou?"
Jonathan shook his head, trying to will back his nausea.
"W-why are you doing this?" He asked.
The Joker's head tilted to the side.
"Doing what Johnny?" He asked.
"This." The Scarecrow said, his voice sounding less forceful then he'd intended for it to. "Wh-why did you take me with you? Why are you helping me?"
And the Joker smiled.
"Like I said, I like you. You and me Spooky, we can take over this town."
"Y-you honestly expect me to b-believethat?" The Scarecrow answered back, finally looking at him, obvious skepticism in his voice. "Seems to me you did a well enough job taking over this town without me."
The Joker shrugged.
"You can belieeeve what you like." He started. "As I see it, the reason doesn't really matter. I got you out of Arkham, just like I said I would."
When he finally felt sure he wasn't going to hurl all over everything again, the pain by then having subsided to a dull throb, the former psychiatrist turned more fully towards the Joker, his eyes narrowing.
"You did." He agreed. "And I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. What do you wantJoker?"
Again the Joker shrugged, his mouth pulling in to a slight frown.
"Nothing." He said smoothly. "But I wouldn't mind you accompanying me on a little trip, once we get our, uh, bearings here."
The suspicion only grew in Jonathan.
"A trip?"
The Joker nodded, a grin spreading across his face, his scars stretching upwards.
"I thought we might, uh, pay a former colleague of yours a visit. Ya know, drop in on him, see how things are… going."
Realization dawned on the Scarecrow and his eyes went wide.
"You mean Dr. Bartholomew?"
"Bingo Scary." The Joker said. "See, that's what I, uh, like about you. You're a smart kid."
Jonathan blinked. He shouldn't be surprised, really. He should have known. The Joker wasn't going to let his psychiatrist off the hook so easily.
"When?" He asked.
"Tonight." The Joker was fast to answer.
The look across the Scarecrow's face was one of pure disbelief.
"T… tonight?" He started. "As in, this night?"
The Joker nodded, still smiling.
"Are you out of your mind?" Jonathan spit. "The police will be looking for us! Bartholomew's house will be one of the firstplaces they suspect!"
"Even better!" The Joker said. "The gooddoctor won't really be expecting us then, will he? The surpriseon his face is what I most look forward to."
Jonathan's mouth hung open, unable to really grasp what it was the Joker was saying.
They'd only just gotten away from that God forsaken asylum with their lives, and now the lunatic wanted to go out there again, right to the very spot they were most likely to get caught!
"You're… you're crazy. You're really crazy." He said, his voice just above a whisper.
Like lightening, the Joker had gotten to his feet and closed the distance between them, his hand shooting out and burying in Jonathan's thick hair.
Quickly, he jerked the former psychiatrist up, and Jonathan cried out, pain burning through his scalp.
The Joker bent down, so that their faces were only inches apart.
"No.I'm.not." He hissed, his voice suddenly low, suddenly deep, raspy and hard.
Gone from it was any amusement. Any mirth.
And for the first time, the Scarecrow felt completely sure his life were in danger.
His hands came up, gripping to the Joker's wrist.
"L-let me go you son of a b…"
But the Joker didn't give him the chance to finish, shoving him away, on to the ground.
He turned from him, going back to the mattress, taking up his earlier discarded clothes.
"Hurry up and dress your wounds." He said flatly, his voice still low. "I have a few stopsto make before we go house calling."
Jonathan said nothing, watching with wide and furious eyes as the Joker dressed, his back to him still.
He would by lying if he said the Joker's sudden flare of anger hadn't frightened him. It had. But the Scarecrow's own rage was now getting the better of that fear, and he found himself wanting nothing more then to fling himself at the clown, tear his own hair out and shove it down his fucking throat.
Rationality came then, the understanding that such an action would be foolish… and pointless.
It would bring him nothing but his own, further injury.
His eyes narrowed.
But that wasn't at all a resignation.
He would get the Joker back. He would make him pay for that.
One way or another.
A moment more, and then he remembered the situation, remembered his state.
He turned, finding the bottle of peroxide, opening it up and pouring it on the cloth, beginning to clean his wounds.
He knew better then to argue now.
Knew he had better quash his hurt pride and feelings of humiliation, until later. Later, when he would test just how much the seemingly unstoppable Joker could take.
/
Hey everybody! Sorry for the long wait! Been trying to keep up with all my different stories.
So, Jonathan gets a little taste of the Joker's meanness in this chapter I guess. Really though, it was only a matter of time before it showed up, I suppose.
Don't worry though kiddies, I'll make sure the Scarecrow gets his own moments of badassery in the coming chapters!
I hope you enjoyed this one! Remember guys, reviews are highly appreciated and I'd love to hear from you!
And yes, that WAS a reference to Cillian Murphy in28 Days Later. So original, I know.