AN: Title and inspiration from the Florence+the Machine song of the same name-particularly the lyric, 'no more calling (cawing?) like a crow/for a boy/for a body in a garden'.

I have been waiting for TWO WEEKS to post this. I love this one. Dunno why. But TWO WEEKS. My self-control is amazing. (Not so much when presented with bubble wrap, though.)

Forbidden Moons-Damn riiiight. Stop talking, you sound horrible. Maaake meeeee. Fine.

Miss Belle Sutcliff-Thaaat'sss whaaat IIII sssaid. STOP IT. You'll make it worse. Heeeee-heeeee.

She wakes to the sounds of birds screaming. They won't stop why won't they stop they've never been like this-

Something's wrong.

She knows it way deep down, that something's got them riled up and they shouldn't be like that they just shouldn't be like that.

She runs outside, the dirt damp from the recent rains, the dampness seeping into her slippers, and follows the caws.

The caws vanish as she gets closer and they take flight in a horrible whirlwind of feathers, leaving behind a scarecrow-

-no.

No.

No.

That's not a scarecrow at all, dear god please no-

She doesn't realize she's screaming his name until he doesn't react to it, and then she silences.

"Jonathan." she whispers. God, they tore him apart…she can barely recognize him… "Jonathan, please…"

She needs to get Mum, she needs to get help but she can't just leave him like this…it's cold and what if he comes to and it's just so cold tonight-

His skin's not cold. His skin's slicked with blood and ragged edges and god no-

"Jonathan, wake up." She shakes him. Never mind his injuries, he needs to wake up before they come back. "Jonathan." Why isn't he moving? "Jonathan Crane!"

He chokes, blood bubbling up through

what's left of

his lips. She shrieks and jerks back before gripping his hands

cut and bleeding she can see down to the bone

and trying to pull him to his feet.

"C'mon, we have to go before they come back, just get up-"

He's shaking why won't he stop shaking-

The shaking stops. Everything stops, actually-save for the distant cawing of the crows.

"Jonathan." She tugs at his hands. "Jonathan."

Why isn't he moving?

"Jonathan?" Her voice is small to her ears, yet so loud in the silence. "Jonathan, wake up. Jonathan. Jonathan!"

Jonathan's startled out of a semi-sound sleep (sound as ever, what with the ever-looming possibility of a Bat-visit) by screaming.

Normally that's fine. Normally it's just one of the subjects making a nuisance of themselves.

But not tonight.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that it's Kitty, sitting straight up in bed and screaming herself hoarse. What the hell…?

"Kitty?" He fumbles for the light and his glasses. "Kitty, what on earth…wake up. Come on, look at me."

Her eyes are open, but she's not seeing him. Why is she not seeing him?

Finally, he gets an intelligible word amidst the shrieking-his name. Approximately two seconds later, she starts flailing.

He grabs her wrists, lest she smack herself (or him) in the face and is promptly reminded that she's stronger than she looks.

"Kitty. Kitty! Look at me, I'm right here, you're all right-" She nearly pulls a hand free and he changes tack, pushes her arms up against her chest and pins them there. "Kitty. Look. At. Me."

The screaming and thrashing stops without warning, but she still doesn't seem to be seeing him. She's trembling and soaked with sweat and he's hesitant to release her-what if she bolts into the road or something?

He lets go of her arms all the same, reasoning that he can catch her if she tries to run.

"Kitty?"

She lifts a hand and brushes it across his face. She takes his glasses off-what's she doing, is she sleep…something?-and moves her fingers across his eyelids before trailing them down his cheek and brushing them across his lips.

"Kitty, do you know where you are?" Some sort of delayed toxin reaction, maybe? Or a sensitivity to the formula? There's always the anomalies, after all.

Her lips are moving, tiny twitches more than anything, but he can hear snatches of things.

"Wake up, wake up-"

"Kitty." Her hand is lower now, moving gently across his throat and collarbone. "Kitty, look at me."

"Wake up, please wake up-"

Wait.

The words still don't make sense, but the motions-that light, fluttery touch, the quick pulling back at random areas-they do.

Birds. She used to do this on rough nights, with a washcloth rather than her hands.

"I'm all right, Kitty." he says softly. "Everything's fine now. Wake up."

"Please-"

"Kitty. Wake up." Her hand stills against his chest and her eyes finally clear. "See? Just a dr-hey!"

She flings herself into his arms, knocking him onto his back.

"Jonathan." Her voice is thick and hoarse-she's probably going to lose it by tomorrow-and her grip on him is tight enough to be painful. "You're all right, you're alive-"

"Uh huh." He attempts to squirm free and is not successful. "Kitty-"

"She left you she left you out there and they ripped you apart and-"

Oh.

That explains so much.

"She didn't leave me out there." he says. "Come on, sit up."

She doesn't. Her shoulders are shaking and it's only after he notices that his shirt is a little bit wet that he figures out that she's crying-harsh sobs that silence each other in their attempt to get out.

"All right, Kitty, it's all right. Just a nightmare."

He reaches for his glasses-really, that's all he's doing-and she shakes her head and forces out, "Don't go."

"I'm not."

That doesn't seem to help-she coughs and for a second he thinks that maybe the flood is over, but then she buries her face in his shirt again.

She doesn't stop crying for another half-hour, and he suspects it's more because she's out of tears than it is that she's cried herself out. Whatever the case she sits up-keeping his hands gripped tightly in hers-and whispers, "Don't be dead."

"I'm not dead."

"Promise?"

He's tempted to say, 'well, actually…', but she doesn't look she'll find that even eye-roll worthy.

"Promise. Come on. You're probably dehydrated after that."

She lets him tug her out of bed and into the kitchen. He intends to get her water, but thinks better of it and digs the kettle out instead. She's shaking again, but now it's less terror and more sweat-soaked pajamas.

"Want me to get you new pajamas?" She shakes her head and he sighs. "Want me to come with you while you get new pajamas?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

In all honesty, he needs a new shirt. This one's been cried on.

By the time they've found dry clothing, the kettle's gone off. They wait in the kitchen for the tea to steep. Everything is quiet, and it's a little disconcerting.

"What do you think brought that on?" he asks at last.

"Dunno." Her voice is hoarse. "I dunno, m'sorry-"

"Don't be sorry." Surely the tea is ready by now. "Just thought I'd ask. Here."

She wraps her hands around the mug.

"Thanks."

"Don't talk, you'll end up mute by tomorrow."

"Mm." She takes a sip. "Throat hurts."

"I'm sure it does. Come along, back to bed."

"No-"

"Yes." He tugs at her hand. "Come on."

For his part, he doubts he's getting back to sleep. He settles back under the covers with his mug in one hand and his book in the other. He's scarcely set his mug down when Kitty inches up between his arm and his ribs.

"Don't go."

"I think you'd notice if I-"

"Please."

"All right, Kitty." He opens his book. "Think you can go back to sleep?"

"Mm."

He'll take that as a 'maybe'.

"Good luck, then."

"Jon'th'n?"

"Hm?"

"You promise?"

"Promise. Finish that and go back to sleep."

After a bit, she sets the mug aside and moves so her head's resting on his stomach.

The screaming doesn't start again.

THE END