AN: And that's why, when you've got an unused part of Arkham, you destroy it rather than block it off. Too many uses. Ways out, torture chambers, weird kinky dungeons…
Jonathan's woozy, a little, but steadily becoming less woozy. The medicine they give him to 'control' Scarecrow has some nasty side effects, but he's been quietly skipping them for the last couple of days. As such, Scarecrow is…present and accounted for.
He's almost missed him. It was getting quiet in there.
It's cold down here, though, which means Scarecrow will not shut up about it. And it's cold enough that he's not even going with his usual 'huddle together for warmth' nagging, he's just complaining.
It's fucking cold. They starved you in there. You lost like, eight pounds. LOOK AT YOU.
Almost out.
McDonald's, McDonald's, McDonald's!
…no.
You're a disgrace.
Well, that's enough of having missed him, he now misses the medicine.
"It's freezing." Kitty plasters against his side and there's suddenly an ice-cold hand pressed against his face. "See?"
"Kitty-!" He flails away and she laughs at him. "Why? What did I do to you? I thought you loved me."
"How do you manipulate anyone into doing anything." Drugs and terror, mostly. All the same, he eyes her oversized (ahh, the perils of being miniscule) shirt, weighs the pros and cons, and decides that yes, it's worth it. "Really, inquiring mi-ah!"
He strikes, digging cold fingers down the back of her shirt and against that spot at the small of her back that makes her shiver when it's so much as brushed against.
"That certainly helps."
She jabs his ribs and he's just reclaiming his arm when there are…footsteps. And voices. Footsteps and voices that are not theirs.
…
Are there urban explorers down here?
DIBS.
Wait.
I WANT NEW FRIENDS.
You murder eighty percent of your 'new friends'.
Like you don't.
The voices grow louder. Jonathan is sensing…frat boys.
There are few creatures he despises more than frat boys. They're up there with the God-fearing fools and the high-voiced, hormone-driven girls (because women have more self-respect) that attempt, from time to time, to…flirt at him.
He needs to kill one of those soon. This last visit had one five-page letter that was both error-riddled and horrifyingly graphic. Kitty had not been pleased. Harley had taken it and nothing had come of that. At least, nothing that he knows about.
The louder the voices get, the more convinced he is that they do belong to the dreaded frat boys. On the bright side, they have lanterns. They'll be taking those. Probably any money they've got on them, too, and quite possibly any outer layers.
This is the one major perk of plotting an escape-you can ready yourself to rob by quietly borrowing a gun. Kitty's got it. She's not a great shot but she's also not coming off of a month-long drug regimen and is therefore the better choice.
There are two frat boys. They round the bend and stop, face scrunching up in shock.
BLAM!
They're not dead WHAT WHAT WHAT WAS THAT WHAT WAS THAT!
Something small and hard and fast just flew past his arm, slicing open his sleeve. There's a small ping! from behind him and then one of the boys goes down, head half-open.
She actually hits the other one-or perhaps he dies of fright, Jonathan can't be sure. He's too busy attempting to breathe.
OUR LIFE FLASHED BEFORE MY EYES.
"Kitty?"
"You look terrible." She pulls on his shirt until he bends down on autopilot, presses her lips to his forehead. "I don't think you're ill…"
"Maybe put the." He swallows and tries again. "The gun down, Kitty."
"What? I got them. It's fine."
JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.
She props it against the wall, though, crouches down to pick up the blood-spattered lantern.
"Huh. I'm not risking brain matter, but they might have money…you're sure you're feeling all right, love? You look about to faint."
"Just, ah…just a wave. The pills, you know. Give me a minute."
Aww. You don't want to hurt her feelings.
No, she'll say it was intentional, attempt it again, and possibly hit me this time.
…that makes more sense.
THE END