AN: 'Fear of grandmothers'. Now, to be fair, Dr. Crane is not going to freak out at some random gramamma in the street, but it's not like there's a name for 'fear of Granny'. (Grannyphobia, I guess, but…no.) Recommended listening: Delta Rae's 'I Will Never Die'.
Forbidden Moons-You laugh now, but geese can kill. Just last year a breeding pair drowned a man who got a bit too close to their nest. Don't pester the geese. Don't even look at them. Not even Penguin has geese. He has a damn cassowary, but no geese.
Jonathan wakes with a raging headache and what feels like a sprained wrist. What…he'd been working, hadn't he?
He is on the floor. Right, then. He'll just…piece things together.
The pain and his location point to a fall. The chair, tipped over as it is, points to a trip. That chair is going in the dumpster at the earlier opportunity. It had one job. Tripping him was not that. (Never mind that he's pretty sure dinner was six cups of coffee…this is the chair's fault.)
He twists his head towards the throbbing wrist. It's swollen-sprain confirmed. Kitty's not going to be happy…he can hear the I TOLD YOU SO already.
Okay. Time to get off the floor. Maybe if he gets some ice on it, she'll never know.
Standing makes the room spin and his stomach do backflips (more acrobatic than he is, how's that work?), and he ends up staggering to his work table and clutching for it before he goes back down. Concussion? Must've been some fall…
At least his glasses survived unscathed. He reaches up to take them off-one of the earpieces is loose again. Damn things…they, too, have one job. Well, two jobs-help him see and don't break.
He doesn't think either of those are terribly difficult, but the glasses disagree.
Maybe it's time to go to bed. If he looks pathetic enough, Kitty might make him tea.
Ugh. There are stairs. There are many, many stairs. He thinks they've multiplied. Like rabbits-two enter the bush, a dozen leave it. That's not fair.
Gotham. It's not enough that it has human crocodiles, the stairs now have multiplication powers. This city is a disaster and he doesn't understand how nobody's bombed them to try and contain the horror.
Eh, they'd probably survive anyway.
He puts his glasses back on, loose earpiece be damned, and shuffles towards the stairs. He ends up veering towards the wall to avoid falling and taking very, very little steps. He doesn't think he's been this unsteady since…since…heavens, must be over fifteen years. He has a vague recollection of being deathly ill as a teenager-ill enough for Granny to actively attempt to keep him alive. Supposedly, anyway-he's still not sure that chicken soup she was forcing down his throat wasn't poisoned. Somehow. Whatever the case, he remembers feeling horribly dizzy then, too, dizzy and unable to lift his head too quickly.
He slumps against the wall, wishing, a bit, that Kitty would come down here to pester him about sleeping or something. Perhaps they should look into walkie-talkies…
He is now at the stairs. They appear to have doubled yet again.
No matter. He has tangled-unwillingly, perhaps, but still-with bigger and scarier things than a flight of stairs.
At least, that's his initial thought. When he steps onto them, he changes his mind. They wobble and tremble like a jumpy horse and the movement makes his vision swim. Clutching at the wall is his only hope, and he feels his way-slowly, so, so slowly-towards the top.
The whole lair has changed. The lab used to come out through a door in the hallway. It now comes out in a kitchen that looks very much like the one in his childhood (ha, as if he ever had one!) home.
Scratch that-identical, down to the cracks in the ceiling and the ironing board tucked into the alcove. (He always used to wonder why…funny thing, huh?) What in the world…
"Jonathan."
He stills, limbs locking and blood rushing to his chest. No. No, no, that's not possible, she's dead-
But there she is, looking exactly the same as she always did-spindly limbs and perfect posture, twisted hands folded at her waist.
He steps back, intending to run-or hurl himself, if need be-back downstairs, and she crosses the room much faster than one would think her able, hand grasping for his wrist.
"Where do you think you're going, boy?"
"Let go of me."
The hand tightens painfully. He attempts to pull free and she strikes him across the face, sending his glasses skittering across the ancient wood flooring and under the stove.
"What's gotten into you?" Her nails dig into his skin and she pulls him away from the relative safety of the staircase. "Come along, this is ridiculous."
"You're dead." he insists, old instincts screaming at him to shut up and logic insisting that she can't be here. "You're dead, this isn't possible-"
She turns back around, icy eyes narrowing.
"I'm willing to forgive you that, in time." He remembers that tone, forgiveness is a lie- "Now come along."
He yanks desperately at his wrist again and this time she whirls, cane aiming for the backs of his knees. He never could dodge it then and he can't dodge it now and he ends up on his back, frantically trying to crawl away from her. She can't be here, she can't be here, this isn't possible, she's dead, he killed her-
"No, no, please-"
"You ungrateful brat." she seethes, feathers falling from her dress as she jabs her cane at his chest. His head's swimming. "I kept you, against all advice, I fed you, I let you have a roof over your head-"
"I'm sorry-"
Too late, he remembers that only ever made it worse. She seems to grow taller and the room closes in around them.
"How many times do I have to tell you to speak when spoken to?"
A crow's head pokes out of her sleeve, followed by the body. It flaps up to the ironing board and caws. She tilts her head and smiles at him in that way she had, like a snake.
"It seems you've forgotten your lessons since I've been away." she says, pressing her cane against his chest until he stills. "Never mind. We'll fix that soon enough."
Another crow squirms out of her sleeve.
"Granny, please-"
Caw!
He freezes. Looks up.
And a black whirlwind dives down.
"-an. Jonathan! Come on, love, you're all right, just listen to me-Jonathan!"
He jolts back to some semblance of consciousness. No birds. No Granny. Yes lying down. Yes pinned, because Kitty's practically straddling him, gripping his wrists.
"Kitty." Can't breathe…the hell happened? He was…Granny had…
Oh.
Kitty's grip on his wrists is painfully tight and he wonders how long they've been like this.
"Jonathan?" She doesn't release him. "Are you with me this time?"
"Yes." He thinks so. "When did…"
She finally lets go of his wrists but makes no move to get up.
"About half an hour ago. You're sure you're not going to hurt yourself if I let you up?"
He doubts he can even stand, to be honest.
"Mm-hm." She gets off him and he looks up at the mercifully crow-free ceiling. "Well, it's a strong batch, at least."
He probably deserves the angry poke to the arm.
THE END