A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood

Lambs to the Slaughter

Beckoning Sal and Jackson to enter Kevin's…well, not really anymore…office, Guiteau sat down in a swivel chair behind a large metal desk. Cautiously, Sal and Jackson both sat on folding chairs across from him, trying not to glance over at their bleeding comrade blocking the doorway.

Addressing them as though this were the most casual of business meetings, Guiteau started the conversation by saying, "So…I believe that you must be one Mr. Salvador, and you are…" He frowned a little as he looked over at Jackson. "You are…"

"He's a new recruit," Sal supplied. "We picked him up while on assignment in Tennessee."

Guiteau nodded. "Ah. And what was it that brought you to Tennessee?"

Shifting in his seat, Sal began, "Well…" He was interrupted by a distinct rattling noise, followed by a shuddering sound. Guiteau, not even glancing towards the direction of the sound, ordered Sal, "Continue."

"Well, we were in Tennessee for the Anna Napolitano case, and…" Once again, Sal was interrupted by the shuddering sound.

Jackson tensed. Without even turning his head, he knew what it was. Kevin's last breaths were shakily resounding through the tiny office, and Jackson couldn't help but feel disturbed by the presence of a dying man only a few feet away.

Guiteau frowned, reaching for something in his desk as he commanded, "Continue."

In a thin voice, Sal continued, "We read in the local paper that a twelve year-old boy had been sent to the ER in critical condition because of a local teenager, so we decided to investga-…" Sal hesitated when he saw that Guiteau had pulled a pistol out of the desk drawer. Gulping, he continued, "Investigate, and we found Jackson. We watched him for a while, and we decided that he'd be a good candidate for employment."

Undoing the safety, Guiteau asked, "Did you test him?"

"Yes, we…"

Sal was cut off when Guiteau reached across the desk and pulled the trigger, shooting Kevin squarely between the eyes. The rattling sound stopped, and after a few seconds of silence, Guiteau smiled pleasantly. "And?"

Sal, looking somewhat pale, resumed with, "We asked him to be the one to carry out the assignment."

The smile faded from Guiteau's lips, leaving him with a stern…and dangerous…expression. "You did what?" he asked evenly, his temper barely evident in his voice while being completely obvious on his face.

Growing paler, Sal repeated, "We had him kill Anna Napolitano…"

Slowly sitting up in his seat, Guiteau stated slowly, "You left the fate of an assignment in the hands of a teenager, one whom you had only discovered a few weeks prior? Is that it?"

His breathing shaky and his palms sweaty, Sal added, "He completed the assignment successfully, no one caught him, they don't even know where the body is…"

"Which is to his credit, not yours," Guiteau stated icily, his demeanor unchanged as a deadly undertone seeped into his voice.

Jackson glanced back and forth between the two men, feeling almost as anxious as Sal did. Although he was grateful that Guiteau had decided to spare him his wrath, he was still shaken by the swift, casual way with which Kevin had been disposed. Would Sal meet a similar fate?

Reaching the peak of desperation, Sal practically yelled, "I was under orders! Kevin was my superior, and when he decided to use Jackson, it was his call to make! It wasn't my place to disagree!" Seeing Guiteau frown slightly, Sal reiterated, "I was just following orders!"

Jackson watched the two men curiously for the next several seconds as all three of them sat in a heavy silence. He braced himself, figuring that Guiteau could shoot Sal at any second if he liked.

In the end, though, it seemed that Sal had struck gold as Guiteau quietly murmured, "You were just following orders." His anger seemed to diminish, but a strong dislike appeared to remain. "Very well. If you were not in charge, then I cannot hold you accountable. However…" With this, he gave Sal a pointed look. "I am your new superior officer, and you will answer to me from now on. And I will not tolerate recklessness. Do you understand?"

Sal nodded rapidly, the color slowly returning to his face. "Of course, of course."

"Out," Guiteau ordered, and Sal didn't waste any time getting up and striding to the door. Jackson had also stood up and was about to follow him when he heard Guiteau say, "Not you. Stay here for a minute."

Turning around and returning to his seat, Jackson looked at the man across from him curiously. The stern expression had vanished from his face, and he looked somewhat more jovial.

"So…you were able to complete the assignment successfully, it seems."

Jackson nodded slowly, wondering if this were some sort of trap and, if so, how he would deal with it. Surprisingly, though, Guiteau's admiration seemed sincere.

"Well, if you were able to complete such a task without error, then you should be a valuable asset to the organization. How old are you?"

"Sixteen," Jackson answered in a dull voice. Guiteau smiled. "Very good. And your name is Jackson?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah…"

Guiteau nodded in return. "Very good, then. I hope to see great things from you." Indicating the door, he said, "You may go if you wish. If you have not been assigned a room yet, just take room 18-5."

Jackson quickly mumbled a thank you, then practically sprinted out of the room and over Kevin's dead body. He continued his rapid pace until he found room 18-5. As soon as he reached it, he ran inside and quickly shut the door behind him, panting heavily as he did so.

As he caught his breath, he slid down to the floor, still reeling from his meeting with Guiteau. It had shocked him, the ease with which Kevin had been disposed. He'd known that this was a job for trained killers but he hadn't quite anticipated the effortlessness with which they could take out one another.

Swallowing hard, Jackson tried to suck it up. Instead of thinking of Kevin, his body still blocking the doorway to what was once his office, he focused on the room before him. There wasn't much to it; it was about the same size as his room back in Tennessee, but he had no roommate to share it with this time. It had some basic furnishings: a cot, a small desk, a chair, a lamp, a shelf.

There was a small, translucent window on the opposite wall. When he saw it, Jackson numbly made his way towards it, suddenly wanting to see a glimpse of the outside world. Peering at it, Jackson tried to look out to see what visions the view would present him. But the translucence of the glass made everything a blur, and eventually, Jackson gave up.

Lying down on the cot, Jackson shut his eyes, wondering if he could fall asleep mid-afternoon. When he realized that he didn't feel the least bit tired, he sighed and opened his eyes, staring at the bare ceiling above him. Without thinking, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out Anna's string of rosary beads.

Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers over the plastic beads and the blood-stained thread. While his fingers memorized its contours, Anna's voice came to him from the depths of his memories.

"He told me that if anyone ever tried to hurt me, it would send an angel to protect me…"

Almost feeling a sense of disgust, Jackson threw the beads against the opposite wall, not even watching as they gracelessly fell to the floor.

Rolling onto his side, he shut his eyes and kept them that way, not moving and not caring if he fell asleep. He stayed that way for hours, and would remain undisturbed until he was awoken the next morning.

-----

B-r-r-i-i-i-n-n-g!

Rolling over on his mattress, Jonathan ignored the ringing phone, not caring if anyone wanted to talk to him. Ducard or Falcone or Rachel Dawes or whoever the hell it was would have to wait. He was riding a wave of euphoria, and he felt as though the rest of the world could go to hell, for all he cared.

From the bathroom next door, Jonathan could hear the shower running. Leon was in there, and if Jonathan listened carefully, he could hear him singing Bohemian Rhapsody into the running water. It seemed like the sort of bizarre song that he'd sing.

B-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-n-n-n-g-g!

Lying on his side, Jonathan pressed his ear into his pillow, letting his head sink in while he happily ignored the ringing phone.

In spite of his usual demeanor, Jonathan felt giddy as he lay there, waiting for Leon to exit the shower. He closed his eyes as though he were going to fall asleep, but he knew that the energetic feeling coursing through his veins would keep him awake.

He was happy. Unmistakably, undeniably happy. How long had it been since that had happened?

When Leon had kissed him, he'd been surprised for sure. It had been abrupt, and he hadn't had time to prepare himself. But he hadn't been upset. If anything, he'd enjoyed himself. And he'd continued enjoying himself throughout the rest of the evening as well.

Leon was not his first lover, nor was he his first since Jackson. There were several points throughout college and medical school that, for one reason or another, Jonathan had ended up in bed with some girl or guy that he barely knew and didn't care for. Ever single time, Jonathan had gone through the motions, trying to enjoy himself as his mind became clouded with images of Jackson.

As much as he tried to forget the things for those few months before they'd been separated, it was impossible to erase those memories. Every time he had sex with someone else, he couldn't help but think that he was damaged goods. Even as his partner seemed to enjoy him or herself, Jonathan would be caught up in the memories of things he'd done that he regretted. In his mind, he was a last resort. Jackson would never have done the things he did if he'd had someone else to focus his attentions on. But girls wouldn't touch him, so he turned to the one person that he knew wouldn't refuse.

He'd wanted to say no. Every single time that Jackson had touched him in a more than brotherly manner, every time that he's looked at him in a more than friendly way, he'd wanted to say no. But he was weak. He idolized his big brother, and could never bring himself to refuse Jackson anything. So he would tolerate their trysts, not saying a word as he was filled with disgust and shame. He had eventually resigned himself to what they did; he would even go so far as to enjoy it, at least in the physical sense. Emotionally, he was a train wreck.

In his mind, he felt some of the blame for what was going on. After all, Jackson couldn't have known that his brother felt so ashamed of what was going on. Jonathan had never given any indication that he wanted to refuse, and Jackson wasn't a mind reader. How could he have known?

B-r-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-i-n-n-g!

Jonathan's train of thought was interrupted when the phone rang once again. He pressed himself down into the mattress, feeling its warm comfort as he listened to Leon ask Scaramouche if he'd do the fandango.

A smile crept into the corners of Jonathan's mouth. On the one hand, there was Jackson and all the other lovers he'd had. On the other, there was Leon.

Jonathan liked Leon in a way that he hadn't expected to. When he'd first met him, he'd planned on considering him a colleague, one slightly more tolerable than everyone else on the Arkham Asylum staff. But Fate had intervened, and Falcone had needed a testimony, and they'd gone out for coffee. And so, things changed.

While he was with Leon, he felt none of the shame or regret that he had with the others. Leon genuinely seemed to like being with him, both sexually and otherwise. And he had a friendly, easy-going way about him that Jonathan was drawn to.

There was another aspect to it that had less to do with Leon. The two doctors had met after Jackson's arrival, which may have had something to do with Jonathan's reduced reluctance towards spending time with Leon. Whatever stigma he'd once attached to his sexual relationships seemed to dissipate as Jackson repeatedly acted like a jackass. It seemed like rebellion, in a way: he would stop caring about what they'd done together to make up for Jackson's increasingly overbearing behavior.

Bri-i-i-i-n-n-n-g!

Beep.

"Hello, you've reached the residence of Jonathan Crane. I'm not at home right now, so please leave a message after the tone."

"Scarecrow, I know you're there, and if you don't pick up, I swear I'm gonna…"

Jumping as he realized that it was Jackson speaking to him, Jonathan hastily reached for the phone and held it up to his ear, quickly saying, "Hello?"

"There you are. Why didn't you pick up?" He sounded irritated. Jonathan swallowed and tried to think of an excuse.

"I didn't hear it."

"Liar," Jackson stated accusingly. "What's going on over there? Did he leave yet?"

Feeling more on edge than annoyed, Jonathan replied, "Leon's still here, Jackson."

"I thought you said he would only be there for a few minutes."

Shifting so that he leaned on his elbow, Jonathan countered, "I was wrong. We…we got to talking, so…"

"Great. Just great."

Looking at the time, Jonathan asked, "Where are you?"

"Downtown. I'm outside one of the subway stations." Sure enough, Jonathan could hear one of the subway rails creaking as a set of wheels clanked along it. Sighing, Jonathan said, "Just walk around for a while, I'll call you once he's gone…"

"What's that noise?"

Jonathan was somewhat taken aback. Jackson's voice was sharp and accusing, though Jonathan honestly couldn't tell what noise he was talking about.

"Jackson, I don't hear anything."

Jackson's voice was stubborn, insistent. "That noise, in the background. It sounds a little bit like static…"

"Jackson, maybe it's a bad connection. I'll call you later…"

"Scarecrow, I'm telling you, it's…is that the shower?"

Jonathan blinked before mentally smacking himself. The shower. He quickly tried to cover himself, stating as calmly as he could, "Jackson, I think we just have a bad connection…"

"That's it, isn't it? And why exactly would we need the shower running on a social call, Scarecrow? Something to do with dear Dr. Warren?" Jackson's voice wavered a little with the realization, and Jonathan noticed that it sounded as though his temper were rising. Trying to placate him, he said, "Jackson…"

"Fuck it. Just fuck it."

"Jackson, it's just the phone line. We have a bad connection…"

"Don't feed me your bullshit!" Jonathan, surprised by his outburst, didn't even try to reply. Instead, he just lay there with the phone at his ear, listening as Jackson attempted to calm himself.

After a few seconds, Jackson's steady breathing could be heard on the line, and he slowly said, "Don't bother calling me. I'll see you in the morning."

And with that, Jonathan heard nothing but a dial tone.

"Who was that?" Jonathan turned his head to see Leon standing in the doorway. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and was dripping water all over the bathroom tiles.

Putting the phone back in its cradle, Jonathan replied, "My brother."

Leon smirked. "The freak of nature?"

"The one and only."

Leon laughed lightly as he climbed onto the mattress, settling next to Jonathan. Lying down with his head resting next to Jonathan's pillow, he absentmindedly twirled a strand of Jonathan's hair. "Does he know what's going on over here?"

Putting his head down next to Leon's, Jonathan answered, "He heard the shower running."

Nestling next to Jonathan, the top of his head underneath the older man's chin, Leon murmured, "And he figured it out?"

Wrapping an arm around Leon and pulling him closer, Jonathan nodded. Leon sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Was he mad?" Leon asked abruptly, still nestled against Jonathan.

Deciding to lie once again, Jonathan shook his head. "He didn't care too much."

Even with Leon's face pressed up against his chest and out of view, Jonathan could tell he was smiling. "Good."

-----

Striding angrily down the streets of downtown Gotham, Jackson could feel a headache beginning to form, a dull pain pounding against his skull with an insistent ferocity. Pushing past people without caring if he knocked them over, he kept on walking purposefully and angrily, even though he had no idea where he was going.

As he made his way down the busy sidewalks of downtown Gotham, Jackson pored over his earlier exchange with his brother, feeling even more enraged as he tried to remember the details of their conversation.

Jonathan had lied to him, of that he was certain. And he'd lied about being with…him. One Dr. Warren, the most irritating member of the Arkham Asylum staff, and the current bane of Jackson Rippner's existence. And there was no doubt in Jackson's mind that they'd done it; Jonathan may have tried to cover for them, but Jackson could detect liars better than most.

Even as he stormed along the paths of the city, Jackson tried to convince himself that it didn't matter. It didn't matter what was going on between Jonathan and Leon because it wasn't his business. He didn't care what the two of them did. He didn't care. In fact, because he didn't care, he kicked over five trashcans during his rampage.

Spotting a tavern, Jackson strode over to it, figuring that there was nothing that couldn't be cured by near-alcoholic behavior.

Striding past the bar, barely glancing at any of its patrons, Jackson made his way towards the restroom. As soon as he found it, he swung the door open with a bang before walking towards one of the mirrors dangling above the sinks. When he reached it, he stared at his reflection; a tanned man with badly colored brown hair and dull gray eyes stared back morosely.

Still pissed, he ripped the wig off of his head and removed his contacts before slamming the items into a handy trash can. He then tore a long string of paper towels out of the dispenser before scrubbing his face of any and all makeup layering his skin.

When he'd practically rubbed his skin raw, he looked back at the mirror to see, for once, the face of Jackson Rippner.

There. Much better.

He glanced around the restroom to see if there was anyone else around to witness his transformation. There was no one immediately visible, though there was a lot of groaning coming from one of the stalls, beneath which there were two pairs of feet.

Ignoring whatever the hell was going on back there, Jackson stalked back out to the bar. In his moody state, he didn't care if anyone recognized him…if anyone did, he would simply gut them and be done with it.

Luckily for everyone, the bar was dark and hazy, so the likelihood that anyone realized who he was diminished greatly. And most of the patrons seemed to care only for themselves and attractive members of the opposite gender, so the chance that anyone would recognize him as the infamous Jackson Rippner was lessened even further.

As the sound of painful caterwauling hit his ears, Jackson realized (to his utmost horror) that he'd stumbled into a karaoke bar. Sure enough, as he glanced around, there was a dimly lit area where a girl was trying (and failing) to sing a rock song.

"And if it's the last thing I'm ever gonna do

I'M GONNA GET YOU…"

Feeling his headache grow stronger by the second while the bad singing murdered his eardrums, Jackson strode purposefully towards the bar, the need for alcohol increasing. As he sat down on a barstool, the girl stepped down and handed the mike to a svelte gamine, who began to coo Bobby Goldsboro's "Honey".

"Guinness," Jackson barked at the bartender, who, upon noticing the irritation of his patron, immediately reached for a glass.

As the bartender handed him his drink, Jackson mulled over the events of the evening. Jonathan had lied about why Leon was coming over, that was for certain. But Jackson wasn't sure if he had planned for the more…athletic activities of the evening. Considering that Jonathan had the sexual energy of oatmeal, Jackson guessed no. So it must have been Leon's idea, Leon's persuasiveness that led to it…

Feeling his headache worsen, Jackson took a long wig of beer in the hopes of getting very, very drunk.

To his right side, Jackson could hear a feminine voice ask, "Seabreeze, please?". Turning his head excitedly, Jackson was almost surprised to see that it was the karaoke singer from before, leaning on the counter while she sat on the stool next to his. In an odd way, Jackson felt crestfallen.

The bartender nodded. "Sure, no problem."

Karaoke Girl smiled. "Thanks." Drumming her fingers against the counter for a few seconds, she seemed to stare off into space as Jackson returned to his drink, taking large swigs that he hoped would make him forget what he knew was probably going on back at Jonathan's apartment.

He'd have wallowed in his misery some more if he hadn't heard the same feminine voice ask him, "You ever been here before?"

Turning to look at Karaoke Girl, he asked, "What?"

Over the din of the music, she asked again, "You ever been here before, or is this your first time?"

Not particularly caring, Jackson shrugged. "First that I can remember."

The girl smiled slightly. "Same here. My friend dragged me here, and last I saw her, she was giving some guy a blowjob in the bathroom."

That explained the noise back there. Jackson chuckled. "Sounds like a party to me."

Taking her drink from the bartender, Karaoke Girl replied, "Probably is for them, too." After taking a sip from her Seabreeze, she held out her hand to Jackson. "Name's Cecilia."

Blanching a little, Jackson reached out and shook hands. "Name's…Jonathan."

Grinning, Cecilia asked, "And what do you do, Mr. Jonathan?"

Praying that no one personally acquainted with his brother would somehow appear, Jackson smoothly answered, "I'm a doctor."

Cecilia gave out a low whistle, obviously impressed. "And what kind of doctor are you?"

Taking another gulp from his glass, Jackson replied, "Psychopharmacologist. I get to deal with the insane all day long."

Crossing her legs and leaning her elbow on her knee, Cecilia countered, "So do I. I work as a cashier."

Jackson actually caught himself laughing at that. "Really."

"Trust me, you haven't seen crazy until you've seen seventy year-old women screaming at you from their wheelchairs that you forgot to scan their fifteen cent coupon."

As she laughed at her own joke, Jackson quickly looked over the woman sitting next to him. She was wearing one of those dresses designed to flatter the legs, which was unfortunate, since Cecilia's legs weren't one of her better features. She was far from being petite, her limbs sturdy and thick where other girls' were lithe and graceful. But she had a thick shock of red hair that flattered her face, and there wasn't a single flaw on her pale skin. Plus, she had nice tits.

Even though she had only just sipped her drink, Jackson could tell she was somewhat inebriated. She'd probably had some drinks before she sat down next to him. Her eyes were starting to get glassy, and her breath reeked of booze.

Cecilia looked back at Jackson, and when she did so, he noticed something else about her: crystal blue eyes. They seemed to take him by surprise, and for a second or so, he was reminded of his mother, and the rage from before welled up inside him.

As Cecilia sucked on the straw of her drink, Jackson heard the music change dramatically. Turning to look towards the karaoke area, it seemed that a brunette version of the previous singer had taken the stage, and in a few seconds, she began to belt "Son of a Preacher Man".

Looking back the woman sitting next to him, Jackson noticed that he glass had been sucked dry. Looking up at her face, he could see that her eyes had grown glassier than before. With faux concern, he asked, "You okay?"

Smiling dumbly, she said, "Yeah, fine. I had a few of these before, so …" As the bartender was about to pass her, she stopped him, asking, "Another Seabreeze?" He nodded.

Looking back at Jackson, she repeated, "I'm fine, really."

Jackson smirked. Like hell you are.

When her second Seabreeze arrived, Cecilia abandoned the straw altogether and finished her drink in only a few gulps. Jackson watched with interest, poring over memories of another drunken woman with glassy blue eyes. Rather than enraging him, as it had before, Jackson felt increasingly malevolent as he toyed with ideas in his head.

The next minute or so was silent between the two, the vodka coursing through Cecilia's system as Jackson watched curiously. Cecilia would glance over at him every few seconds, mistaking his attention for romantic interest. Jackson made sure that his expression gave every indication that this was so.

Abruptly, Cecilia stood up awkwardly, announcing, "I'm gonna go. My friend prolly left already..."

Jackson was somewhat surprised that she was still speaking fairly clearly. Shaking his head slightly, he mused, "An unarmed, inebriated girl walking down the streets of Gotham in the middle of the night by herself…doesn't sound particularly safe to me."

Twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers, Cecilia murmured, "Well, maybe I need someone to walk me home and protect me."

A dark look crossed Jackson's face, one which Cecilia seemed to be unaware of. "…is that an invitation?"

She smirked lamely. "Maybe." And with that, she turned on her heel, stumbling only slightly as she strutted her way out of the building.

There was a few seconds in which Jackson sat there, simply chuckling quietly at a joke that no one had said. When he had finished, he composed himself and stood up and looked towards the exit. A dangerous look in his eyes, Jackson stalked out of the bar, joining the drunken Cecilia at the sidewalk, where she had been waiting for him.

About two hours later, Jackson found himself in a dingy alleyway, looming over Cecilia's corpse as it sat against the opposite wall. Her pretty blue eyes were no longer there, or rather, not where they were supposed to be. Jackson had managed to gouge them out carefully, putting the remnants in each of her palms, her legs spread-eagled where she sat. The back of her head was a mess, blood seeping out onto the wall where Jackson had smashed an umbrella handle into her skull.

He smiled. It was like art.

As he used her jacket to wipe the blood off of a knife he'd stolen from her kitchen, Jackson addressed Cecilia's corpse as though it would respond.

"It's too bad, really. You were a fun fuck…even if you did pass out in the middle."

Tossing the blood stained jacket off to the side, Jackson pocketed the knife as he stared down at Cecilia's body with disgust. He was about to walk away from her, acting as casual as he could, when he stopped. Turning on his heel, he strolled back over to the body and spat on it. Feeling satisfied, he carelessly strode out of the alley and onto the streets of Gotham.