AN: Heyo Paxx here! So this is my first story I'm posting on here but first a disclaimer that I own no part of DC Comics or their characters. So this is a little oneshot I wrote based off a story I'm currently working on but I'm not ready to post any of yet. I wrote this to help myself figure out how I wanted the two characters to interact so I kept any big plot details(aside from a little backstory)out,hopefully you should be able to read this with minimal confusion.Iplan on getting the first chapter of the previously mentioned story out in a few days so if you liked this be on the look out for that!
On with the story! ~Paxxotic
Adrien sighed as she stared up at the cracked, filthy ceiling from her position on the cot she had been given to sleep on. The dingy room was only illuminated by a single pane window far above her head that was so layered in dust and scum hardly any light from the Narrows outside filtered through. She was fidgeting with the hem of her zip-up when she heard a thud, quickly followed by glass shattering from the next room over. She was on her feet and out into the hallway in an instant. She peered around the door of the room she heard the sound from and felt her stomach lurch at the sight of Johnathan Crane's lanky frame, dressed in his Scarecrow outfit, hunched over on the floor below the open window next to his mask and a broken beaker. Then she saw the blood streaming from his nose and a long gash across his left shoulder. She hurried over to the figure setting him up so his back was against the wall and she could pull the rough burlap over-shirt off over his head.
"There's a first aid kit in my desk drawer. Go get it" Crane groaned. He tilted his head back and pinched his bleeding nose while Adrien retrieved the kit.
"The bat?" She asked as she kneeled down next to him. She opened the kit and got out a gauze pad which she pressed over the gash, holding it down firmly.
"Well clearly" A scowl spread across his face and he wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand
"Really took a beating this time." She murmured to herself and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the table that had held the now broken beaker, offering him one. Jonathan took a cigarette from the box and felt around in his pocket for a lighter. Holding the cigarette between his lips as he lit the end and took a draw. She watched him, taking note of the dark indigo bruises smattered over his torso; thinking that they looked like watercolors against his nearly translucent skin.
She wiped away the remaining blood from around the wound and tore open the package of an antiseptic wipe with her teeth, carefully and gently cleaning out the wound of any dirt and bacteria.
Once finished with the task of cleaning out the gash, she leaned back to look at the wound, determining whether he needed stitches or not. The gash was ragged at the edges and traveled six inches across his shoulder joint, she decided it was better safe than sorry and got a needle ready.
"I'm gonna have to give you stitches," She told him while she cleaned the skin outside the wound and tossed the antiseptic wipe she had used aside. She began to sew his skin back together, quickly working the needle under Jonathan's flesh, only pulling the sutures tight enough for the edges of the cut to meet. They sat together in silence as she worked and he smoked, grimacing once and a while.
She caught her thoughts drifting back to 13 months ago when she first met Dr. Jonathan Crane. Met was loose term seeing as the first thing he did was spray her in the face with a foul-smelling gas that induced what she thought was just a particularly bad panic attack until her vision warped into manifestations of her usual anxious inner dialogue and fears. For what felt like an eternity she had stood there paralyzed as she gasped at the night trying to get her breathing under control. Her eyes locked with the man's own until he turned and walked away, getting in the passenger's seat of a van, that she was then unceremoniously thrown in the back of by one of his men.
Something, she didn't quite know what she had her ideas of course but nothing concrete, but something had influenced Crane's decision to spare her life. She had survived after she had survived nine months of hell at his hands without going completely mad or dying of literal fright as all of the other people she was with did. She had little to no interaction with Jonathan except for the few times she had attempted to talk to him and the one time that in a blind rage she had thrown herself at him, determined to see blood. It goes without saying that she had gotten a massive dose of fear toxin as a result.
She snapped back to the present moment and set the last stitch, tying it off and tossing the needle and the rest of the trash from caring for his wound into a wastebasket. She packed up the first aid kit and got up to return it to Jonathan's desk drawer, taking a few shaky deep breaths before turning to face Jonathan.
Jonathan had stood up and was currently doing something she couldn't see at the table holding a variety of chemistry equipment.
"Thank you for taking care of my shoulder Adrien," He asked as he turned to her with a syringe of noxious orange toxin, the first time in months she had seen his poison, "I think its time I make you into something" He took a step forward and grabbed her wrist, plunging the needle under her skin and pushing down the plunger.
AN:Hey so I hope you enjoyed reading this! I'm sorry that some parts don't make complete sense or are a little unclear but I promise that I'll elaborate further in the actual story this is based on.