AN: The Nutcracker (as far as I know) isn't anybody in canon. If there IS one (not a stretch) this isn't him.
Johanna Crane-Chances are that you'll die anyway, really.
Christineoftheopera-Perhaps I didn't make myself clear...no visitors. Every time someone pops round, Batman appears.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Yes. You should. Don't encourage him.
His first time in Arkham's rec room drives home what a horrible place he's landed himself in. The place is filthy and crowded-between the apathetic guards and the cackling inmates, there's barely room to breathe.
Who all is in here, anyway?
There's the Joker, hideously recognizable even without his makeup. His scars stand out in sharp relief and he keeps licking them and sometimes scratching at them. He doesn't want to know how he got those scars.
Next to him is a little blonde thing-must be the doctor he broke a few months ago. Quinn, isn't it, Harley Quinn? She's giggling and fussing with his clothes and staring at him with almost sickening adoration. Sadly, the Joker seems to be less-than-thrilled with the monster he's created.
He won't be sitting over there. Who else is here?
A man with fiery red hair and thick-rimmed glasses sits in a corner, playing with a Rubik's cube. That must be the Riddler-even without his green clothing, he's impossible to miss. He doesn't want to sit there, either-at least one person has wound up being convinced that being a henchman is a good job…and died horribly testing one of Riddler's death traps.
How about no.
There's the Scarecrow in a ratty armchair, one hand holding a thick book and the other draped around Kitty Richardson's waist. He knows better than to go over there. Scarecrow talks people into killing themselves, and if he should be construed as flirting with his girlfriend, well…
Who's the short blonde guy? He doesn't recognize him. He'll sit there, then.
"Hello."
"Good afternoon." Well, apparently the English accent of Disney movies is a thing. "Welcome to Arkham."
"Thanks."
"My name is Jervis Tetch, but you may call me Hatter."
He doesn't sound crazy. He doesn't look it, either…but neither does the Scarecrow.
"Bob."
"Robert?"
"Just Bob."
The little man gives him a wide grin. It hits Bob that the room has become very quiet-everybody's looking their way. Joker's stopped licking his scars and Harley's whispering in his ear-probably asking about him. The Riddler has put the cube aside, Kitty has sat up straight, and the Scarecrow seems to be trying to read his mind.
He feels like a gazelle surrounded by lions.
Thankfully for him, he is called to therapy at that moment.
When he returns, the only people in the room are the Scarecrow and Kitty Richardson. Great. Why couldn't the Hatter be in here instead? He was nice. A little freaky, maybe,
Grandma, such big teeth you have!
but…nice.
"Bob, is it?"
The number of guards has decreased. The hook-handed one-the leader-isn't here. Crap.
"Yes."
"Sit down. We don't bite."
Something about that makes Kitty grin, but Scarecrow-what's his real name, anyway?-maintains his expression of polite disinterest.
Help.
"You're new. What are you here for?"
He shrugs, tries to be embarrassed. He doesn't have to try very hard.
"I dressed up as a nutcracker and killed a guy."
"What possessed you to do something as stupid as that?"
Good question.
"Money…"
"No."
It's like being confronted by a snake-hypnotic, horrible. He shakes his head anyway. Just words, just words…
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.
"You're desperate for attention." Scarecrow's voice is soft, soothing. "Probably dating back to childhood. And the nutcracker…you're frightened of them, aren't you?"
"No." he lies. "No, I'm not…"
He is cut off by that horrid soothing tone.
"Don't lie to me. I can always tell. Fear of nutcrackers…tell me, are you the one that bit his victim to death?"
It was an accident, he hadn't meant to…
"Yes."
"Fascinating. How was it? Did the blood gush down your throat, or was it more of a trickle?"
It had started as a trickle, but then he'd hit the jugular and it had absolutely poured over his tongue, sweet and rusty.
"Did you enjoy it?"
He's too thin to bother with and besides, there's no blood in that pale face, only straw.
"Yes." he whispers. The Scarecrow smiles and reclines back in his armchair, his head on Kitty's shoulder.
"I thought as much."
"Crane! What's going on over there?"
"Just getting to know our new guest, Mr. Dolarhyde." he says, innocent as a schoolboy. "Aren't we, Kitty?"
She nods. Bob licks his lips. She's not worth it, either-too thin-but the guard…
"Act natural, Nutcracker." Crane says. "You don't want to be on the receiving end of a tranquilizer dart. They leave you with a hell of a headache."
He gets up, his eyes locked on the guard's plump neck.
The man has time to let out a choked scream before Bob's teeth are in his throat, clamping down, releasing the flow of blood.
Across the room, Jonathan Crane surveys the carnage through half-closed eyes.
"Such barbarians, Kitty." he says. "Honestly…biting. What is this city coming to?"
THE END