AN: As always, thanks for the reviews!
He promised.
He was aware, on some level, that now was not the time to be brooding over his lover's latest betrayal. He could do that when he got out of this mess, if he got out of this mess, when the Batman was dead or at least strongly hallucinating. Then he could track down the Joker and pay him back for all the suffering he'd gone through since saying yes that night on the street, when the clown had given him a rose. That would have been logical. Even Scarecrow agreed with that course of action.
But like a record that couldn't jump a scratch, he remained unmoving, thoughts coming back to those two little words. He promised.
It was idiotic, he knew, to trust anything the Joker said. He shouldn't have been surprised at all, really, especially considering that he'd just watched Joker manipulate both Harvey Dent and Harley without a moment's remorse. But…but he was supposed to be different. If the Joker promised him that he wouldn't let Batman hurt him, he was supposed to follow through, not cast him aside as a distraction, as if he didn't matter. He promised.
He lied, Scarecrow said bluntly, those words even more painful than the knife at his throat had been. And sitting here sulking about it isn't going to change a thing. So get off your ass and do something about it, before Batman gets back up and force feeds you poison again.
He felt Batman shift beneath him, and snapped back to the real world at once, pulling himself to a sitting position, legs pinning down the Bat's arms. He was shaking, though with rage as opposed to fear. There was nothing, nothing he wanted in the world now more than to get his hands around the Joker's throat and choke the life from him, show him what happened to those who manipulated him. But as Joker wasn't there at the moment, the Batman would have to serve as his punching bag.
Which wouldn't work, he knew, unless he subdued him first. He wasn't deluded enough to think he stood a chance against the man at full power, but scared shitless and hallucinating, that was different story. Low blow or not, he wasn't above kicking a drug-weakened Batman in the ribs a few dozen times before he hunted down the clown and gave him his just desserts. He raised his shaking hand, fully prepared to fire.
Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that Batman was about twice his size and his pathetic body weight would hardly be enough to hold him down. A gloved hand closed around his arm, painfully tight, and for one horrible moment he was sure the toxin would be sprayed in his face again, bracing himself. Thankfully, he was merely flipped over onto the floor—though the force Batman exerted on his arm to do that was excruciating—pinned down, Batman holding his arms over his head. There were bits of glass and debris and possibly human remains poking in his back, and the pressure on his wrists was tight enough to remove any idea of trying to break free from his mind.
Still, he wasn't about to be subdued that easily, and immediately brought his knee up, will full force, into the Batman's crotch.
It had about as much effect as the time he'd tried that move on the Joker, or possibly less. Well, fantastic. Of course that area would be as armored and protected as the rest of him, and now all he had to show for his efforts was a new pain shooting through his knee. The Batman lowered his full body weight on Crane, his legs onto of the smaller man's, making further kicking impossible.
"What's his plan?" The question was not asked so much as shouted in his face. He felt one of the gloved hands at his wrist moving, taking the fear gas by the wrist strap and slowly but surely sliding it off. Crane lost any composure he'd managed to hang onto immediately, thrashing and struggling as much as his position would allow, twisting his wrists, trying to grab the wrist strap with the free hand, keep it from being pulled off.
He didn't succeed, of course. What chance did he have, when it came down to brute strength? "Hold still," the Batman growled, and his wrists were suddenly, painfully pulled apart, the toxin removed and cast aside while he was unable to grab it with the opposite hand. He heard it clatter to the floor somewhere, and fought back harder than ever, still to no effect.
"What's his plan?"
"He explained it, or weren't you listening?" Crane spat, eyes burning with venom. "I'd think that 'I've got a video to deliver to GCN' is pretty self-explanatory, but then I've got a PhD. What do you want me to do, demonstrate it with pictures?"
"Enough." His wrists were back together, held with one hand while another took hold of his jaw, hard enough to make his teeth cut into his face, silencing him. "How's he getting out of here?"
"With Floo powder, I'd imagine." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Scarecrow was warning him that taunting Batman at a time like this, fun as it was, was not a very wise idea. He couldn't care less. He was mad as hell and the Bat would just have to take it. Sure, it was likely to get him beaten within an inch of his life, but if anger kept the emotional hurt at a bay, he wouldn't mind.
There was a fist slamming into his stomach, the pain paling in comparison to the choking sensation he felt when the air was forced out of his lungs. It was like being held underwater all over again. The only thing keeping him from going into a complete panic attack was that blessed anger, burning as strongly as ever. "How's he getting out of here?" This time it was roared in his face, really.
Idiot. Honestly, how stupid did you have to be, demanding answers when the captive was choking? Or impulsive, anyway. He glared up at him, struggling for breath, and finally managed, "I've no idea. Certainly not the way he came. And even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
"He used you."
The reminder felt like being thrown all over again. "Shut up," he muttered, barely audible even to himself, physically aching from the mix of sorrow and outrage. And humiliation.
"He used you, just like he used your best friend. First for the gas, and now as a distraction. Why are you defending him?"
"Shut up!" he shouted, horrified to feel tears coming to his eyes. No, I can't cry. Not like this, not in front of him, I can't. He never cried, and certainly not in front of anyone. Well, the Joker, but that was under the effects of a drug. But not now. He couldn't let the Batman see him like this, he wouldn't. He stared upwards, forcing himself not to blink for fear of forcing the tears out. "I don't know how he's leaving, all right? Don't ask again."
It wasn't the smartest thing to do, commanding an enraged Batman, but he found that he couldn't be worried, not anymore. The added anger that had arrived once Batman had reflected his feeling of betrayal back on him, again, had entirely removed his sense of self-preservation. All he cared about was hurting the Bat as much as possible for bringing it up, and then hurting the Joker, wherever he was.
"Where did Dent go?" he asked, after a pause, sounding just barely controlled. Crane guessed he'd wanted to hurt him rather badly, for telling him what to do.
"Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane, London," he said, sarcastically, Scarecrow wincing mentally as the Batman's fist came down again, this time over his face. There was a gush of blood from his nose, which may or may not have broken. Either way, it made breathing difficult.
"Where did he go?" And that time it was loud enough to be painful.
Whatever tiny part of his mind that still cared about living took charge and answered. "I really don't know. We offered to let him come with us, he turned down the offer, he left that way." He tilted his head toward the doors the Joker had disappeared through, the opposite from where the Batman had entered. "He didn't say where he was going. I doubt he even knew."
The Batman's eyes were burning into his, as if his gaze could double as a polygraph test. Crane stared back, terrified but unblinking, as he could still feel excess moisture in his eyes, and he'd be damned if he let the man see that weakness. After a moment, one of the hands left his wrists again, touching lightly against his chest, skimming over the dress.
"Hey!" He was unable to keep the panic from his voice, cursing himself for it. So now the Batman knew he couldn't stand to be touched. Well, that was the last straw on an already unbearable load. "Get off! What are you doing?"
"Searching you for weapons." He sounded as if he was amused and trying to hide it. Oh, how Crane longed to grab hold of those stupid bat ears and slam his head into the floor tiles until there was nothing left but a mess of tissue and bits of bone.
"Don't touch me!" He knew he was begging, could feel whatever pride he'd maintained in the past few weeks shatter into a thousand little pieces, but he couldn't help it. He hated being touched under normal circumstances, let alone so quickly after the betrayal of someone he'd let touch him so often, so intimately.
"I don't have much of a choice. I don't want a surprise stabbing." There was no humor in the voice now, and no pity yet, but it sounded as if there could be. He didn't think he'd be able to take it if there was.
"I don't have a weapon." Honestly, he didn't. He'd only had the fear toxin and the knife, which was in the purse he'd dropped somewhere when he'd run into Batman, much like the camera. The Batman's hand was over his stomach now and it was enough to make him feel ill.
"You haven't given me much incentive to trust you." His hands were over Crane's sides.
"Please." He could feel himself break at the word, tears sliding down his face.
"I'm not going to hurt you." And there it was, the pity in his voice. His voice itself had changed, quieter, almost gentle, and that made Crane sicker than ever, bringing new tears to his eyes. He did not want pity, damn it, especially not from him. "At least, I don't want to. Don't fight me, I'll be done i—"
He'd kept up the search while he spoke, and Crane could feel the gloved hand skim over his groin. It was a second of contact at most, likely less, but the profound wrongness of it pushed him over the edge. He knew it was a search, he knew it meant nothing, and it wasn't as if he hadn't been searched before, but it was too much, given recent events. His first thought was Nobody but the Joker touches me there, not ever, and then he realized he was still pining for the touch of that bastard and had to bite back vomit. As if the violation wasn't enough, now his own mind was against him?
He sobbed, and loudly enough that Batman looked back up at him, alarmed, judging by the wideness of his eyes. "That hurt you? Are you injur—"
Crane took advantage of his distraction to bolt upright, ignoring the horrible pain that shot down his arms when he wrenched free. Weaponless, he did the first thing that came to mind, grabbed the back of Batman's cowl and leaned in, biting the exposed part of his face as hard as he could.
He tasted blood at once, swallowing to keep from choking on it. The taste made him gag harder than ever, but he held on as if his life depended on it, ignoring the flavor the same way he was ignoring the fists coming down on him, the thrashing body, the hands trying to push him away. He bit like a rabid animal, wanting nothing more than to tear the flesh right off. It would serve the bastard right, for all the punches and remarks and touching.
He stayed in place for at least a minute, before a hand wound itself through his hair, bringing intense pain as he was pulled back, blood dripping from his mouth. Once his teeth were safely out of the Batman's skin, the other hand slammed across his face, sending him flying to the side, off the vigilante.
He scrambled to his knees, ignoring the cuts debris had made on his body, and spotted the fear gas lying not five feet away. Not wasting the time to stand up, he crawled for it, fingers closing around it just as the Batman grabbed hold of his ankle, pulling him back. Still clutching the canister, he pulled his leg back with all his strength, then shot it straight out again, foot slamming into the Batman's face. There was a satisfying crunching sound, and a flow of blood from the other's nose.
The Batman staggered backwards for a second, Crane taking advantage of the moment to get his own balance back, pointing the fear toxin, ready to fire. Only he hadn't been counting on the Batman being able enough to tackle him, and was once again sent sprawling to the floor, pinned down. A hand closed around his wrist, the pain horrible, but he refused to let go of the fear gas, refused to stop struggling, trying with all his might to point the stuff back in the direction of the Bat's face, and fire.
"Stop it," Batman ordered, his blood dripping down into Crane's face, like rain. "I told you, I don't want to hurt you."
"Could have fooled me," he spat, blood leaking from his own mouth thanks to the latest punch.
"You bit my face!"
"You touched me." He could feel his face burning at the memory of it, disgusted with himself for being so affected, so human.
"That's different."
"I don't think so." He was still crying, God damn it. If there was one person he never wanted to show weakness in front of…well, this was shaping up to be the worst day ever.
"I want to help you."
"No, you don't. You really don't. That's just what you tell yourself, so you can dress up each night and punch the daylights out of people while still feeling good about yourself. You dress up like that, and ride around in a tank, and you're trying to tell me that isn't self-righteous thrill seeking? If what I do makes me mad, then you're every bit as bad as I am, only you try and justify it by saying you're protecting the city."
"I don't kill people."
"And that makes it all okay?" He managed to laugh, even through the blood in his mouth. "If you believe that, you really are insane. I didn't kill people to begin with either." Well, there were the mental patients who'd had heart attacks as a result of the experiments, but that hardly counted. "Last I checked, I still got locked up, but you didn't, and it's not as if what you do isn't breaking laws."
"I don't hurt people."
He laughed again, ignoring the way it made his head pound. "You hurt me."
"I don't hurt people if I can avoid it. I don't like hurting you."
"Oh, right. I bet you just hate it, don't you?" The pain in his wrist had moved past excruciating now, sliding towards hellish. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the struggle up. "Tell me, do you wear that mask to protect your identity, or so you can still stand to look at your real face in the mirror each morning, after the things you do?"
"Enough. I'm taking you to what's left of the staff in this place."
It just figured. Changing the subject as soon as things got too close to the truth. He sighed, almost inhaling his blood by accident. Back to a cell, without even getting his revenge. Fantastic.
"Are you going to come quietly, or do I have to drag you the whole way?"
Wait a moment…this could work to my advantage. He took the hand not holding fear gas and grabbed hold of the Batman's arm, eyes wide as he could make them go. "Wait—you can't lock me back up, not here."
"It's where you belong."
"But you don't know what it's like," he pleaded, making his voice break on the last word. "You've never been here. It isn't safe."
"It's a hospital." But he was, Crane noted, looking at him with something that had the potential to become sympathy. Idiot, he thought, fighting back a smile. Your compassion is going to get you killed one day. Not that I'll be too out of sorts over it. He stopped fighting the tears that were coming to his eyes, knowing it would make him look all the more helpless. God bless his mother for his eyes, the only good thing she'd ever given him.
"It's not safe," he repeated. "You can't trust a place that let someone like me in charge. If you leave me here, right after this little number, I'll be dead by morning." He made himself shiver, tightening his hold on the Batman's arm. The hand around his wrist remained tight as ever, but he was lowering his guard, Crane knew it. How dangerous could the panicked little mental patient be, after all? He was almost unable to keep from laughing, turning what would have been a giggle into a sort of choked sob.
Batman was looking at him with—well, it wasn't quite sympathy, more like disgusted pity, but he'd take what he could get. "You wouldn't die." His voice was irritated, but also oddly patient, as if he was speaking to a small child. "There are guards to protect the patients."
"Guards whose friends I'll have killed," he whimpered, almost hugging onto him by this point. "Who'll want revenge. Don't leave me here, please."
"There's nowhere else to take you."
He responded by sobbing.
He heard the Batman sigh, and knew he'd won. "You'll be fine. I'll watch this place, all right? No one's going to hurt you. Now get up."
"Are you coming with me?" he asked, in the smallest voice possible.
"Until I find an employee—a trustworthy one," he added, as Crane moaned. "Yes. Up."
He unwound himself from Batman, sitting slowly, letting the hand with the toxin go limp, to further lower his guard. Then, as soon as the Bat's eyes dropped to his weapon-holding hand he took the other, and lightning fast, shoved his fingers as hard as he could into the bite mark he'd made on Batman's face.
He wasn't sure how deep the bite was, and he couldn't guess much by feeling, as the unicorn Band-Aids on his fingers blocked most sensation, but however seriously, it must have hurt horribly, because Batman howled, releasing his wrist at once. Crane tightened his grip on the toxin, pulling his hand out of the way before it could be grabbed again. Batman's hands were on him again in seconds, pulling him away from the wound, but not fast enough to keep him from raising the toxin and firing it in his face.
It took a few seconds to take effect, but when it did, it was glorious. Batman, as he'd learned from the first time he'd poisoned him, was not a screamer, but the way he shook and moaned almost made up for it. Crane pulled himself free with no effort at all, and stood, straightening his skirt. He slipped the wrist strap back on, watching, smirking as Batman collapsed to the floor, and made his way over to his purse. He pulled out his glasses, slipped them on, then took the knife and walked back over to his nemesis. Oh, he wouldn't mind savoring this for as long as he could, but he still had the Joker to track down, and if he wanted to catch him before he left, he'd better be quick about it. Besides, Batman had felt the effects of a similar compound before, and that could lessen its effectiveness. No, best to leave now.
He gave Batman one good, hard kick in the ribs first. "Don't ever touch me again," he muttered, the memory almost wiping the smile from his face, then tightened his grip on the knife and turned, setting off to find his lover.
And when he did, he was going to kill him.
AN: 'Floo powder' is the substance used to travel through chimneys in Harry Potter. I see Jonathan as a fan (I'm sure he'd get along well with Professor Snape) though he'd deny ever reading them if asked. Not nearly professional enough.
"Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane" is the Banks family's address in Mary Poppins. I also see Jonathan as a fan of musicals, and Mary was actually rather scary at points in the original books, as were some of the adventures, so I won't put it past him to have read those as well.