Hey, welcome back!

Okay, so I know I was trying to get this chapter out by Christmas, because I knew the week between Christmas and New Year's is always crazy (it was). However, I also forgot how crazy pre-Christmas planning can get, what with the cleaning and cooking and all. So I apologize for the late update.

I really have to stop trying to use time limitations, because it really has yet to work out. Hell, at the end of the month, it will be a year since I started writing this. And I thought I'd have this finished by May.

There are no flashbacks this chapter, because I'm still trying to sort out how the timelines are going to work out. I had a bunch of notes on how it was supposed to go, but apparently they are currently lost in the abyss under my bed. As such, next chapter will definitely have flashbacks, but I'm not sure if it will have present-day stuff. I'm not sure. It's all kind of crazy, especially since I am really unorganized.

Anyway, here are ten brand-spanking new pages for all of ya, along with a scene that's probably a thousand different kinds of blasphemy! Enjoy!

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Disclaimer: And on the eighth day, the Lord did speak, and He did say: "Queen of the imps doth not own Batman Begins, for it belongs to Christopher Nolan. Nor doth she own Red Eye, for it be the property of Wes Craven." And all was good.

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A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood

Yes versus No

After a few days passed, Jonathan started to calm down. He no longer destroyed things, and he adopted a much more peaceful manner in the days that followed. His actions became much more logical and thought-out, and he seemed to return to his previous state of mind. If anything, he became as detached as he usually was. So, for all intents and purposes, he had returned to normal.

Well, except that he was still under the delusion that his brother was really Leon, to Jackson's dismay and irritation.

One morning, approximately a week after Jonathan had heard the news of Leon's death, the two brothers found themselves sitting in the den as the early morning sunlight filtered in through the windows. Jackson found himself slumped on the sofa in the clothes that he'd fallen asleep in, munching a bagel absentmindedly as attempted to fight off an impending hangover. Jonathan sat in the armchair, dressed neatly while he scanned the newspaper and sipped coffee.

Jackson, whose thoughts were still fogged by sleep and alcohol, simply stared out into space and watched particles of dust floating through the sunlight. The silence of the room had grown so stagnant that Jackson was almost startled when Jonathan began to speak.

"I'm going back to work."

Jackson glanced over to where his brother sat. Jonathan hadn't moved an inch; his face was still facing the newspaper in his hands, but his eyes were watching Jackson intently.

Jackson chewed his bagel slowly before swallowing. Tentatively, he asked, "What did you say?"

Filled with determination, Jonathan stated firmly, "I'm going to work."

"…Today?"

"Yes."

Jackson stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to create a response that wouldn't piss his brother off. Cautiously, and with as much restraint as he could manage, he said, "You're sick."

Jonathan scowled defiantly. "I'm better."

"Are you?"

Glaring at his brother, Jonathan stated vehemently, "I believe I'm a much better judge of my own health than you are."

Jackson decided to withhold his opinions on Jonathan's mental health for the moment, lest Jonathan's calm attitude suddenly end. Silently, Jackson tried to think of the best approach to take. On the one hand, Jonathan did seem to be better. But who knew if that would last long?

On the other hand, Jackson sure as hell didn't want to be on the receiving end of a meltdown.

Eventually, with a small sigh of frustration, Jackson replied, "If you think that's best."

"I do," was Jonathan's firm answer.

"Well, then that's that." Jackson bit his lip for a second before adding, "If you're sure."

"I'm not a child," Jonathan snapped, his face contorted in an ugly mask. But as suddenly as his anger had appeared, it dissipated as Jonathan's face relaxed. Looking at Jackson apologetically, Jonathan murmured, "I didn't mean to get upset."

Oh God. Jackson almost had to laugh at how quickly Jackson had become so meek, but his stomach churned. He knew that it was the apologetic tone of one who had lashed out at a lover, not at a brother. Still, the abrupt switch was a bit disconcerting, coming from someone like Jonathan.

Without moving or changing expression, Jackson merely mumbled, "It's fine."

To Jackson's dismay, Jonathan began to speak again. "It's just...this last week, I've been very…confused, I guess."

"How so?"

"Ever since I've started taking these days off from work, I've been having…visions that bad things have happened. That bad things have happened to you." Jonathan fidgeted, racked with a nervous energy he couldn't control. "Sometimes I'm convinced that something happened, that you…" Jonathan stopped to bite his lip, and Jackson could see his brother tremble slightly. Watching his brother cautiously, Jackson braced himself for another outburst.

After several seconds, Jonathan stood up and said in a low, quiet voice, "I should leave for Arkham."

Jackson said nothing, half-expecting for something to trigger another meltdown. He chose not to move or reply in any way as he watched his brother with a quiet intensity.

Jonathan, after a second or two of silence, said in a quiet voice that Jackson was not used to, "Do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"Don't die."

And with that, Jonathan grabbed his briefcase before walking quietly out the door.

Jackson lay down on the couch, letting the bagel slip from his hand to the ground with out notice. "Shit," he mumbled. Then, somewhat louder, he added, "Shit shit shit!"

Rolling onto his side, Jackson shut his eyes and tried to fend off an impending headache. His brother was still deluding himself, and, even worse, was now convinced that he was sane. And he had managed to convince himself that Leon had never died, and was now residing in his apartment. Which left Jackson stuck to try and snap him out of it, with no clue as to how.

Closing his eyes and resting his head, Jackson tried not to think about it. Let Jonathan sort it out for himself, however long it took. It had only been a week; perhaps time would clear the whole thing.

Even to Jackson, that sounded naïve. Sinking into the couch cushions, Jackson let himself forget about his batshit insane brother, and it was only a few minutes before Jackson had drifted off to sleep.

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Jackson remembered dreaming of weightlessness. He remembered the sensation of floating through a black nothingness, like a ghost in a spirit world or a particle pf dust on the breeze. He remembered peacefulness, a sense of calm pervading the air.

Then out of the blackness emerged a figure. It was oozing crimson blood over its entire body, and a sticky mess of black hair sat atop its obscured face. One of its hands was held out in front of it, as though it were a blind man stumbling through a sightless world; the other hand clutched tightly to a black rosary dangling from its neck.

The figure slowly approached him, stumbling and starting as it moved. It seemed to be a mess of clumsy motion and awkwardness, making him hideous and intriguing to Jackson. It wasn't until it stood directly before Jackson that it raised its gaze to look at him. At the moment Jackson could see the pair of icy blue eyes boring into him, he knew.

Leon.

"Why…?" A hoarse whisper drifted between them. Jackson made no move to respond, his mouth dry and hi body frozen.

The unanswered question appeared again. "Why?"

Nothing. Jackson remained still as Leon shook, his body trembling and convulsing, making the blood on his skin ripple violently.

With a sudden burst of anger, Leon grabbed Jackson's shoulders and dragged himself forward, screaming, "Why did you kill me?-!"

Jackson remained silent, frozen and unresponsive.

As if Jackson's silence had increased his fury tenfold, Leon's trembling became all the more intense. In one swift motion, his hands reached for the rosary beads dangling from his neck. A second later, the rosary was wrapped around Jackson's throat, with Leon twisting the strands to press tightly on Jackson's windpipe.

As he gasped for air in vain, Jackson could hear Leon's voice pounding against his ears. "You stole everything."

Pressing his lips to Jackson's ear, Leon hissed, "You took everything. My life, my lover, my name…"

Leon pulled away, twisting the strands harder into his fingers. The pressure of the beads increased, making Jackson gasp loudly. Leon seemed not to see him, his eyes still cold with rage.

"Your comeuppance is coming, Jackson."

He smiled a little, cruelly and happily.

"You've been tempting the devil all your life, but the time's coming for you to pay penance on your sins."

Jackson's vision blurred, and it was only a second or so before the only thing he could see clearly was Leon's icy glare.

"Every corpse you've desecrated, every drop of blood you've spilt, every tear shed because of you…you'll have to suffer them a thousand times over. You'll be destroyed, Jackson. Hell's too good for people like you."

The pressure was released and Leon stood back, leaving Jackson to stand with the rosary around his neck.

Leon smiled evilly. "I was the least of your worries, you son of a bitch."

And with that, he shoved Jackson's shoulders hard, and Jackson felt himself begin to fall.

As he shot downward with an unnatural speed, Jackson's ears were filled with the sound of crunching metal and glass before he felt the searing heat of flames licking at his back.

Bolting upright, Jackson awoke in a cold sweat, his breath heavy as his heart beat rapidly inside of his chest. Looking around, all he could see were the normal trappings of Jonathan's apartment, and he felt relief when he saw the mundane surroundings before him. Lying back down, he tried to think back on the dream, and if it meant anything significant or was merely nothing. A minute later, he was fast asleep; when he woke up later, he wouldn't even remember the dream at all.

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At about five-thirty in the evening, Jackson's sleep was disturbed by a subtle click before the sound of light footfall. The den lights suddenly illuminated the back of his eyelids, causing him to flinch.

Rolling over to face the couch and block the brightness of the light, Jackson. "Evening, Scarecrow."

A second later, he could hear Jonathan's calm reply. "Evening."

There was more footfall and the sound of a soft thud before Jackson heard the rustling of fabric. Jonathan must've been taking off his coat.

A minute or so later, Jackson could hear Jonathan's voice ask, "Why are you sleeping so late?"

Jackson groaned, wishing that Jonathan would leave him alone so that he could get back to sleeping. "I'm tired."

A rustling noise. "Any plans on getting up soon?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking of going out to dinner."

Burrowing his face further into the couch, Jackson muttered, "Have fun."

In a light tone, Jonathan replied, "I meant maybe we could both go out."

Jackson stayed still for a second before letting out a heavy sigh. "Scarecrow, not now."

Jackson's ears were greeted by the unfamiliar sound of Jonathan laughing. "Come on, don't be lazy."

"Scarecrow, I'm tired. Drop it."

There were a few seconds of silence, and Jackson naively assumed that Jonathan had relinquished the battle. However, that assumption was shattered when Jackson felt fingers toying with strands of his hair.

Immediately, Jackson stiffened. Fuck. Was Jonathan actually toying with his hair?

Rolling over slightly, Jackson saw that his brother was sitting on the edge of the couch cushions, his arm reaching over to tease the strands of Jackson's hair.

In a tone that seemed almost playful, Jonathan murmured, "Get up. You've been inside all day."

Jackson didn't like this. He knew that his brother was still batshit crazy, and that he was probably still laboring under false delusions. If it was true that Jonathan thought he was speaking to Leon, then he was in a very uncomfortable position.

Jonathan leaned over slightly so that Jackson could feel his warm breath beat down on his skin. Jonathan smiled a little. "Don't be so stubborn."

Weakly, Jackson protested. "Get off me."

Jonathan didn't seem to notice Jackson's objection. Leaning over even further, a mischievous smile crept across his lips. With his hot breath beating down ever more on Jackson's skin, Jonathan practically whispered, "Come on. If you come with me, you can pick the place…"

Jackson barely heard the words coming from his brother's lips; his mind was too busy racing through a thousand thoughts on what to do. Jonathan was too close, way too close. Jonathan's nose was only a few inches from Jackson's cheek, and his hand was still resting in his hair. It was painfully awkward.

So why couldn't he just push Jonathan off of him?

A voice from the past arose in Jackson's mind from nowhere, whispering in his ear.

"Why…?"

That was Leon's voice. Leon's voice, Leon's question right before he died.

"Because I hate you."

No….no, that wasn't it.

"…we'll get some good food, maybe some good wine…"

"You should never have gotten involved with him. You should have left him alone and gone and fucked some other pretty boy."

Closer.

"…maybe afterward we can take a walk, see the sights a little…"

"It'd have been much better for you if you'd just stayed away. You should've realized that Jonathan belonged to someone else. That he was mine."

That was it.

"He was mine."

"…and come back here afterwards…"

"Mine."

"…and if you're lucky…"

"Mine."

"…we can take things further from there."

You want this, you sick freak.

That was the whole point, wasn't it?

Almost as if to answer Jackson's inner monologue, Jonathan leaned even closer to Jackson, the smile still sitting on his face. Pressing his lips practically against Jackson's ear, Jonathan asked in a low voice, "So how about it?"

The blood rushed to Jackson's face in a mad rush. His heart started pounding against his ribcage like a drum, and his thoughts suddenly became a swirling mess of "Oh God yes" and "Oh God no".

"Scarecrow…"

"I'm not taking no for an answer." Jonathan's lips moved down slightly, to the spot between Jackson ear lobe and his jaw bone. Kissing it lightly, Jonathan whispered, "So what do you say?"

Oh, shit. Jackson's stomach knotted as he struggled between the urge to squirm away and a slight arousal.

"Scarecrow…"

Sensing his defiance, Jonathan pressed his lips down more firmly before trailing them down to the nape of Jackson's neck. His fingers began creeping across Jackson's body like spiders; his right hand came to rest on the small of Jackson's back, while the left entwined itself in Jackson's hair.

Jonathan's voice hummed in Jackson's ear, his lips brushing his skin like feathers.

"Don't refuse me…"

In that instant, Jackson found his thoughts evaporating, and he was lost completely to sensations. The prod of Jonathan's fingernails on his back, the pressure of teeth behind the lips on his neck, the tickling feeling of Jonathan's hair falling on his face…but above them all was the sense of heat. The warmth of Jonathan's breath, his skin, his body…he wanted to feel that heat further, to be consumed by it like paper in a flame.

"You stole everything..."

But then his thoughts switched on again, and Jackson was brought painfully back to reality. This was Jonathan, his brother, a man. This was a crazy man, sick and deluded and insane. Jonathan was broken, one who wandered through a fantasy like a blind man.

Jackson could taste bile in the back of his throat, and a sense of nausea arose violently. Fuck, what was he doing? What was Jonathan doing?

Before he even had time to realize what was happening, Jackson felt the sting of pain on his palm as Jonathan fell straight onto the floor. Jackson sat upright quickly, his breath heavy and his head aching.

Jonathan sat up slowly, clutching the cheek that Jackson had hit. He looked wounded, his eyes wide with a helpless hurt. Shaking his head slightly, Jonathan tried to stammer out an explanation.

"I-I did-dn't mean…I-I wasn't trying to…"

Jackson refused to look at him, simply staring at his aching hand as emotions swirled through him in a dizzying frenzy. "Get the fuck away from me."

"I-I swear I didn't…"

"Don't touch me!"

Jonathan stood up quietly and retreated to the kitchen, leaving Jackson alone to stew. Sighing loudly, Jackson lay back down across the couch, shutting his eyes and pretending to sleep while his hand throbbed.

After ten minutes had passed, Jackson could hear the sound of footsteps, and it wasn't long before he could smell the stale scent of leftovers hanging in the air.