So... yeah. Thought it was time to have the boys meet.

Chapter Four: I'm Your Villain


I know what I am
I'm your villain
I don't give a damn if
I'm your villain
Because serious
You're so serious

Franz Ferdinand, I'm Your Villain

Crane knew that voice. Had heard it on those videos sent to the Gotham news stations, the ones the staff tried to turn off as soon as they came on TV in the rec room.

They never could turn them off. Crane had hidden the remote, so he could stare, transfixed, at the screen. Regardless, anyone stupid enough to give the inmates of Arkham Asylum anything that could be used as a weapon deserved far worse than the excitement brought on by the Joker's hostage videos. The staff were just fortunate that he had it and not one of the serial killers.

They were never grateful, of course. Neanderthals.

Apparently, the man who was currently suffocating Crane beneath his weight knew the voice too.


Feared it.

Crane can tell from the way the man had stiffened above him in an entirely new way.

Which would have been lovely to observe, but Crane was still paralysed with the almost-horror of it all, and oh god, he's naked, and he doesn't know what to do.

The orderly, gets off him, pulls up his slacks, legs shaking slightly, although nothing compared to Crane, who swiftly pulled back on his jumpsuit, torn though it was to the waist. And damn the no-underwear policy at Arkham, how did they manage to get even more neglectful than when he was running it and not even paying attention – and he cowered slightly, while making a brave yet transparent attempt to make it seem as if he wasn't.

The orderly, meanwhile, had grabbed the Joker by the lapels of his jumpsuit, and pulled him close, and barked "Freak!" right in his face.

Crane was willing to wager his not inconsiderable reputation as a psychiatrist that this was a bad move. A very bad move.

He also began to wonder how he was going to get out of this situation, and if this was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Currently, his brilliant mind was failing him.


Thanks, brilliant mind. What's the use of a genius level IQ if it can't get me out of this?

And he was pretty certain that he'd rather be raped to death by a thick-as-a-plank orderly than by a murdering terrorist with a personality disorder, a total lack of empathy and an affinity for knives.

It had got worse. Of course it had got worse. Basically his life in a nutshell.


Thank you, universe, for giving me this mind, so I could die screaming in the cell of an insane asylum at the hands of a man who wears face paint for fun. It was totally worth it. Thank you so very much.

Crane's panic barely lasted seconds.

He looked up and the Joker was still laughing.

Through his off-kilter, high pitched giggling, Crane heard him say, "Oh, that's riiiiight. I killed one of your friends today. I'd say sorry about that, but I'm really not, so... tell you what... Barry... are you, uh, 'Barry'? 'Cause the other guy was called 'Gary' and that's just plain confusing... I'm really disappointed about the sound his eyeball made. 'Cause I was expecting a "pop", and it was sorta gloopy, real drrrrippy – "

The would-be-rapist apparently tragically named "Barry" slammed the Joker up against the wall, growling incoherently with rage.

It all happened rather fast after that.

Really, Crane was impressed. Whether goading the orderly was just for fun, as Crane later learned the Joker liked to call it, for "shits and giggles", only so he could get the keys off his swiftly pulled-back-on belt, or a fun fun fun combination of both Crane didn't know, but three seconds later the man was on the floor, a key in his carotid artery, and a pool of sticky goodness spreading beneath him.

Curiously, the Joker knelt down beside the man, humming almost absentmindedly. The orderly, who was convulsing lightly, sounded like he was also having a panic attack, gargled garbled groans spilling from his lips along with the blood-bubbles.

Crane noticed for the first time that the Joker's face was bare. He had once been a handsome man. Could still be, without the madness that lurked beneath the scars.

Apparently this had occurred to the Joker also, as he dipped a finger in the ever-spreading pool of blood and drew his customary smile on his face.

Crane didn't know whether to be awestruck or revolted.

The Joker, joy filling his voice, said, "Isn't that better, boys and girls?"

He turned his head towards Crane, and sang, "Boy... Girl?"

Crane stiffened slightly, angrily.

The Joker's gaze flickered down to Crane's ripped jumpsuit.

"Boy."

"Indeed."

Crane's tone made Antarctica seem like a sun seeker's paradise.

The Joker smirked. Hit a nerve. Good.

"No need to get catty."

Crane, too bruised and shell-shocked for survival instinct to kick in, harrumphed and crossed his arms in a passable imitation of a sulking adolescent.

The Joker cocked his head as a thought struck him, his smirk widening.

"Aren't you a doctor, kitty-cat?"

"Yes."


Kitty-cat?

"There's a man bleeding out on the floor, ya know."

Crane gave 'Barry' a contemptuous glance.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

The grin kept stretching.

"So you are a doctor, aren't ya? You can save him?"

Crane looked him straight in the eye. Blue blazed.

"Of course I can. But I don't want to."

And his grin was so feral it almost matched the Joker's.

He continued, "You got him in the external carotid artery. He will exsanguinate in less than two minutes. It should be entertaining."

At that, the Joker actually laughed.

"So you're the Scarecrow?"

"Well deduced."

The Joker moved towards the bed, hand outstretched.

"I'm the Joker."

"I know who you are."

The larger, stronger hand gripped Crane's and shook it, hard.


Fear, meet Chaos.

"Kind of small and skinny for supervillain, ain't ya?"

"I think you have proven very well already tonight that slimness and a height difference do not mean one cannot be dangerous."

Crane inclined his head towards the twitching mass on the floor.

The Joker's smile was almost manic now.

"Checkmate, Doctor."

Crane leant back against the wall, amusement still clear in those hypnotically deadly eyes.

"You know that ya still kind of naked there, Doc?"

Crane's face flamed, (and probably most of his chest, too. Pale skin. It's a curse.), as he realised that was very little he could do about rectifying this situation. The Joker's cheery leer was not helping.

The Joker took advantage of his confusion to pull him to his feet and started to drag him to the door.


Of course this was when the alarm went off.

Crane sighed inwardly, as the Joker danced from one foot to the other in excitement and anticipation beside him.


Back to the straitjacket we go.


... we?


Oh, son of a bitch.

Franz Ferdinand are a Scottish Indie/art rock band. I think using "I'm Your Villain" is a little cliché, but I couldn't resist. (If any of you read TV Tropes, I consider this an example of Big Damn Villains. Hence the title.)

Barry is the name of someone who upset one of my friends recently. Hence this "Barry". Although I should point out that real life Barry is not a rapist, just a bit of a waste of space. Also, "Barry" is a truly tragic name. (I consider myself able to make judgments like this because my real name is so ridiculous it sounds like a Mary Sue.)

"Kitty-cat" is a brief homage to the wonderful Lauralot, and her Joker's tendency to call Jonathan "kitten". I love "kitten", it's just the right mix of condescension and misplaced affection.

Severing the carotid artery is very dangerous and usually fatal.

Pale skin. It is a curse. Everyone knows when I'm embarrassed, that's for sure.

Is the "we" supposed to be ambiguous? Yes, yes it is.