AN: *Insert rant on losing text AGAIN because of a sudden navigation off the page here* Damn trackpad mouse. I really gotta save more often... :P At least it's not as much this time, which is good, considering this is the longest chapter yet (and I did adjust the mouse's behavior so this shouldn't happen again). It's still goddamn demoralizing.
Batman stumbled through the dark. It was wrong - everything was wrong. The walls of the buildings seemed to bend towards him, the streets were cobblestone instead of pavement, and the night sky... It was black, pitch black, deeper than ink. A fact was struggling to make its way through his mind as he staggered down the empty sidewalks, but it refused to come. His head felt like lead, his muscles like stone.
There! A thin sheet of light, pouring out from a door ahead. Thankful for even this small break in the darkness, his gauntleted hand closed over the heavy doorknob. One twist, and the door started to creak open.
On the other side, a cheerfully lit bedroom... A very familiar one, at that. No... It's not... It can't be... Again, that fact tried to force his way through, but it pounded futilely at the haze of shock and horror filling Batman's consciousness.
"Almost ready, dear?" Dr. Paul Karofsky murmured; he sat by the crackling fire in the fireplace, turning a glass over in one hand as a woman in a long black evening dress sat at the vanity, putting on a pair of glittering diamond earrings.
"Almost."
Batman tried to call out to them, but his throat locked; all he could get out was a hoarse whisper. "Dad... Mom..."
"Is David ready?" Paul asked casually as he sipped at his glass, filled with an amber colored liquid.
"He's been ready for the past hour. He's practically bouncing on his heels." Diane Karofsky turned towards her husband, her eyes twinkling in amusement. "You just had to get him into your precious old films, didn't you? I mean, really, Zorro? What child watches Zorro these days?"
"Zorro is a classic," the doctor replied in an exaggeratedly lofty tone. "I wish more kids had fathers of refined bearing willing to pass strong ideas of quality along to the next generation."
Diane giggled. As she turned back to her vanity mirror, dabbing at her lipstick, a serious look came over her face. "Paul... Could you talk to David for me?"
"About what?"
"Remember that he went to his friend Bryan's house this afternoon? When I picked him up, he was... holding Bryan's hand. And on the way home, he said they were going to get married."
Paul chuckled. "Heh. And?"
Diane turned to her husband with a frown. "'And'? Paul, you can't tell me this doesn't concern you."
"What should concern...? Oh." Paul snapped his head back, draining his glass. "Please, Diane, let's not go over this again..."
"I'm worried about him, Paul, I really am."
"And I keep telling you it's nothing to be worried about."
"What do you think will happen when people find out..."
"We don't know there's anything for them to find out! He's just a kid!" Paul's face twisted in anger; from the doorway, Batman's stomach turned and his body tensed. This wasn't like his daddy, not at all. "And even if he is, so what? Are you concerned that your family name is going to suffer for being associated with..."
"How dare you!" Diane slammed her hairbrush onto the vanity. "I'm worried about him, our son! What kind of life can he have as a homosexual?"
"A damn good one, as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, for God's sake, Paul, you've seen AIDS with your own eyes! How can that be...?"
"Enough!" Paul roared, leaping from his chair. He rubbed his face with both hands, the trembling in his body slowly subsiding. "David's going to be here any moment. Let's forget about this, go out and see a movie as a loving family."
"Fine. We'll talk about this later," Diane replied coolly. Then she turned and stared directly at Batman. His heart squeezed; that hadn't happened the first time, the time he accidentally spied on his parents in their room, the night they... "That's right, David," she said. "I died cursing your sexuality. Why couldn't you be a good boy for your mommy? Why?"
"Our last night alive, and we fought," his father added. "Over you. Maybe if you weren't such a disappointment, maybe we would've been paying attention when we left the movie. Maybe we wouldn't have died. And look at you now." He shook his head. "What kind of life is this? I'm ashamed of you..."
Finally, his muscles moved; Batman slammed the door shut, cutting off Paul Karofsky's words. He stumbled off, his eyes stinging. There were no tears, though - of course there were no tears. He groped blindly in the dark, his costume melting into the shadows as if they were swallowing him whole. Another line of light, emanating from under a closed door, stabbed through the night ahead. Desperately, he staggered towards the door and tore it open.
The cheering was deafening. The circus audience was pumped, ready for wonder, for awe, for a spectacular night of entertainment.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the ringmaster roared from the center of the circle. "Direct your eyes above my head and gaze in wonder at the aerial acrobatics of Sam, Stacie, and Stevie, the one, the only, the world-famous Flying Evanses!"
Batman's head rose in horror. He tried to run in, stop them, but his legs wouldn't move. He tried to shout, to warn them, but his voice was a mere croak, drowned out in the accolades of the crowd. He could only watched as three leotard-clad youths, all blonde and slim, bowed to the crowd from their trapeze perch. The sole girl grabbed onto one of the trapeze bars and started swinging. As she flipped end over end to reach the other side, the younger boy followed, showing off his own astonishing acrobatics. Batman once more tried to shout, to scream, but again his throat closed, his tongue dry.
It all happened so fast, just like the first time: the tinny snapping sounds overhead. The screams. Stevie and Stacie plunging towards the ground. Sam still spotlit on the trapeze perch, his face pale and anguished. Batman remembered standing in his seat the first time, thinking for a bare instant about vaulting over his fellow audience members and trying to reach, to catch, the two falling children. The sound their bodies made when they hit the earth still rang in his ears.
The tent was dead silent. A second spotlight turned on, focusing on the two shattered corpses. Above them, Sam grabbed a microphone (out of where?) and began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a calm, even voice. "My brother and sister are dead. The only family I had left after our parents died, my responsibility. And they have been murdered. By whom, you ask? By him." He pointed directly towards Batman. Every single audience member turned in their seat towards him, glaring in judgment.
"I never wanted to be some superhero. I never wanted to be drawn into his world," Sam continued. "But I was, because he just couldn't go it alone like a good little boy. No, he needed a friend, and I was stupid enough to try to be one. But I was just a kid then, just sixteen. He was my age too, but he should've known better. He knew he was poison. He knew he killed everyone he loved. But he still made me his friend, because he was so goddamn fucking lonely! And look what he did." Now Sam stared directly into Batman's eyes, his gaze seething with grief and hatred. "Look at what you did!" he shrieked, pointing at Stevie and Stacie's bodies. "Look!"
It was only with superhuman effort that Batman slammed the door shut, cutting off the condemnation, the rage. Batman sank to his knees. This time, he couldn't stop the tears. "God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
"Tsk tsk." He looked up; even through the veil of his watery eyes, he couldn't mistake the firm, thin legs, the curved body. Catwoman... Kurt Hummel... stood before him, dressed in his form-fitting jumpsuit, his mask off. "Pathetic. If I'd known, I wouldn't have even gone out on that first date."
"Kurt..." His voice was a mewl, a mere whisper, barely audible. Pathetic indeed.
"What kind of coward are you?" Kurt sneered. "You find out who I really am, and all of the sudden, I'm radioactive! You put me off, make excuses, leave me hanging..."
"Y-you're a criminal," Batman rasped. "You're what I've spent my entire life fighting..."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Oh, give it up, David. We both know what this is about. With me, you have to choose between Batman and David Karofsky... and you're desperately afraid that you'll end up choosing the latter." Batman's head bowed, his forehead resting against the cold, hard pavement. "Then you'd be such a disappointment to mommy and daddy. Oh, wait, you already are, so what's the point?" He heard, rather than saw, Kurt cluck his tongue. "I wonder what you're seeing? It's probably pretty interesting."
Wait... That wasn't Kurt's voice. It tickled his memory, pushing at the haze over his mind.
"Not that it matters. I'd be an idiot not to take advantage of this. Nice try, Batman, but this time, you finally lose."
There it was. The fact that was pushing at him, breaking through with the force of a Howitzer shell. He remembered: tracking his quarry to an abandoned apartment building. Finding the latest guinea pig, a kidnapped prostitute, locked in a cage. Freeing her, only to hear her shouted warning too late as the gas billowed into the room. Giving her his gas mask and telling her to run for her life. Realizing that the antidote he'd taken earlier was having little effect, that he must've come up with a new strain of his gas...
Kurt's form shimmered, as did his surroundings. He willed his brain into focus. Streets became walls and floors. Kurt gained pounds, inches, his jumpsuit turning into burlap and straw, his face turning into a mask made out of a ripped bag.
Kurt... No, Goolsby, ex-Professor Dustin Goolsby... took no notice of Batman's shifting mental state. He simply prattled on as he casually drew a hypodermic needle from his satchel. "I gotta tell you, you led me on a pretty good chase. But the best man won. I knew he would. Don't worry, though - you won't die right now. I'm going to inject as much concentrated fear toxin as I can right into your veins, and see just how long it takes for you to die and what kills you. I'm betting heart attack, but stroke and self-disembowelment aren't out of the question."
Such was the Scarecrow's M.O. Handsome and arrogant, possessed of a keen mind for psychology, obsessed with lording over others through fear. Fired from Gotham University for his unorthodox experiments and teaching methods, he only found that he had freer reign to grind his "inferiors" into the dirt the way he wanted.
Batman blinked, trying to drive the taunting voices and the crushing weight of his own emotions out of his mind as the Scarecrow approached, syringe in hand. "This'll hurt for a moment. Okay, fine, it'll hurt for the rest of your short life..."
Batman's fist lashed out so quickly that the Scarecrow was unconscious before he even completed his step forward. The former professor collapsed to the floor, the syringe rolling away into a darkened corner. The Dark Knight drew himself to his feet, trying to ignore the screams and shouts and faces he knew were only in his head. But they were surrounding him, pushing at him, telling him things that he didn't want to hear but that he knew were true...
Stop it! He stumbled onto the fire escape, leaning against the railing, gulping down the cold night air. It wasn't helping. He was struck by another wave of dizziness, sending him tumbling over and crashing to the ground two stories below.
Ha! You deserve that, and more! the voices taunted. Batman tried to stand, but slammed painfully back onto his knees. He was completely disoriented, without an idea of where he was, let alone where the Batmobile was. His communicator was broken, probably by the Scarecrow at some point in the depths of the hallucinations.
The Scarecrow would be out cold for hours; Goolsby always did have a bit of a glass jaw. He would keep until that prostitute called the police.
But who knew how long that would take; it was a distinct possibility that no one would come until morning. By then, Batman knew, without treatment... he'd probably already be dead.
What the hell are you doing, Hummel? Kurt chided himself as he stalked the rooftops of Gotham. It was the "bad" part of town - but then, he was getting the distinct impression that most of Gotham was the "bad part of town." There was certainly no sparkling jewels or cash to be had here, unless he was stupid enough to take from the various drug lords and medium-time gangsters that made this area home. So why was he here?
The answer was all too clear: Batman. There was a connection there, a spark; he knew it to be so, knew it was mutual. Unfortunately, he was also pretty sure his little secret was still hidden, and equally sure that it would be a huge mistake to make Batman angry. And if experience was any indicator, a gender reveal now would certainly... upset him. Kurt shook his head ruefully; for all the times he reminded people, rather snottily, that he was a man, and no less of one for being gay, he sure made a good woman.
That left David. He, at least, knew Kurt's gender, and again he was pretty sure of a mutual attraction there. But the two hadn't seen each other since that unfortunately aborted date at the mansion. "I'm really sorry. Business. You know how it is with multinational corporations." Kurt didn't, of course, and had to laugh a little at the thoughtlessness of David's naivete. Hopefully, he'd have some time to wean the man away from some of his more shallow personality traits.
But until then, what other game in town was there but Batman? Kurt wasn't used to pursuing; he did quite enough of being the pursued, thank you very much. So this was thrilling in its own way, the chase applied to a man rather than a bauble - more so, in fact, since this quarry could run on its own. Of course, that raised the issue of what he would do when and if he caught up to his prey. If it couldn't work (and all indications were that it couldn't, for so many reasons they were hard to count), then the least he could do was let Batman down gently (even if the thought was so absurd it actually made Kurt laugh out loud). Or perhaps figure out if there was some way to exploit the "relationship"... Even if it caused a sharp, painful guilty feeling that Kurt was definitely not used to having to deal with.
One of Kurt's contacts had heard rumors of the Scarecrow making a home in the area - thus Kurt's hunting grounds. The Scarecrow was a major player amongst Gotham's lunatics, so Batman would inevitably be drawn here; hell, he might already be there. If nothing else, this could be a valuable opportunity to study the man's style and tactics. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even...
"Oh God oh God oh God..." The somewhat muffled voice below was female, panting and desperate. Normally, Kurt wouldn't have given it a second thought, but given the circumstances, the knowledge of just who was out there, he peeked over the edge of the rooftop. A woman - a working girl, from the look of her clothing - was running down the street, wide-eyed and desperate. She pressed a plastic gas mask to her face (thus the muffled voice), which was twisted in panic.
Kurt's instincts were roused. Perhaps it was the fear, way beyond anything he'd ever seen between a hooker and any john or pimp. Perhaps it was his foreknowledge of the kind of men who were stalking the area. Perhaps it was that gas mask, too fancy to be part of any average person's possessions. But whatever it was, Kurt had made a fine living obeying his instincts. He turned on his voice changer and dove over the edge of the building.
With feline grace, he landed on a ledge by his hands, launching himself off of that and towards a nearby streetlight. Grabbing onto the part parallel to the ground, he swung around it, retaining his momentum enough to reach a fire escape on the opposite end of the street. From there it was a simple jump towards a wall, a bounce off said wall, and a second jump off a closed Dumpster to bring him face to face with the fleeing hooker. She shrieked.
"Shh! I'm here to help!" The female voice seemed to actually calm her, but only slightly. "I'm a friend of Batman. He gave you that, didn't he?" He pointed at the gas mask.
The hooker seemed to gather her nerve; she nodded nervously. "That... creep in the straw mask kidnapped me. Batman saved me, but the gas..."
Kurt's stomach dropped. Everyone knew what kind of nasty shit the Scarecrow could come up with. And Batman gave her his mask, leaving himself vulnerable... What kind of man would...? He shook his head, which caused the hooker to stare in confusion. "Where is he? Do you remember?"
"Y-yeah. Big building, corner of Finger and O'Neil."
"Okay. He told you to call the cops, right?" She nodded. "Do it. There's a pay phone on the next block that way. Make sure they know the Scarecrow is involved."
"But what about...?"
"I'll find Batman. Now go!" He watched her run for only a moment before Kurt launched into a sprint. A kind of desperation he'd never felt before poured adrenaline into his veins. The streets were quiet, apparently uninhabited, even by society's most desperate - very unusual, as if even the homeless and addicted knew that this was a night to stay indoors and out of sight. The only sound that reached Kurt's ears were his own breaths, his own heartbeat.
After running a marathon, he was finally at the corner of Finger and O'Neil. He looked up at the tallest building, a ratty structure four stories tall. The night was silent, save for the distant roar of traffic and the skittering of mice in dark corners. Kurt began to wonder if he'd missed the fun when he heard the voice emanating from the nearby alley. "Please... don't... I'm so... I'm so sorry..."
Kurt cautiously stepped into the gloom. Slumped against a wall, apparently only barely keeping himself standing by force of sheer will, was Batman. His body was rigid with tension, trembling, his lip quivering with emotion that Kurt almost hadn't thought him capable of. Kurt tensed; people approached, dealt with, fear in all sorts of ways. He knew that better than anyone. One wrong move, and Batman could lash out violently; Kurt was certain that he did not want to see that happen.
His nervousness congealed in his throat; he coughed. Batman's head jerked up, his eyes widening. "No... You're not real. You're just... part of the gas. Just... just stay away..."
"N-no," Kurt replied as calmly as he could. "I'm real. I want to help..." He took a step forward.
"Don't!" Kurt obeyed. "I... it's hard to tell... what's real..."
"Okay, I'm going to reach out and touch you. Very slowly. If you want me to stop, tell me." Gently, as if reaching out to an unfamiliar dog, Kurt extended a hand. Batman cowered, but otherwise didn't move, his gaze fixed on the outstretched arm. Inch by painful inch, Kurt moved forward, looking for the slightest sign of panic, the least tensing of muscles that could herald a very painful retaliation. There was nothing; he was too wrapped up in the moment to even consider the significance of that. As his fingertips brushed Batman's arm, the other man shook visibly, but otherwise did not move. The only indication of a reaction was his eyes, blinking rapidly, as if just holding still was requiring an immense force of will.
The hesitant contact slowly became firmer, Kurt's fingers gently closing around Batman's arm. The grip moved down to his wrist, then wrapped around his hand. Something there seemed to trigger something in Batman; his hand closed around Kurt's, almost engulfing it in black leather. Kurt gulped, willing his heart to stop pounding. After all, he could feel the emotion through their gloves, through their skin; it was born of desperation, of utter terror.
"You are real..." the other man rasped.
Kurt nodded. "I can help you. Where's your Batmobile...?"
"I... I can't remember... My head, it's..."
"I don't think you want to go to a hospital, but I'll take you there if I have to. I won't let you die." He was surprised at how firm his voice was, how certain he was that his actions would follow his words. Yes, if he had to save this man's life, he'd give up both their secrets, if he had to. God, am I going soft? Why...?
"C-corner... of... 5th and Broadway..." Batman's free hand rose, pointing shakily towards the south. "Someone there... Please... take me..."
"Okay. Let's go." Slinging Batman's arm over his shoulder, he began to painstakingly lead Batman down the alley. Kurt, for all his agility and wiry strength, was not a very large man, and Batman obviously was; the difference in weight staggered him for a moment. But some inner determination, it seemed, kept him going; after a block and a half, he hardly noticed the burden. His ears, his senses, were tuned on Batman and Batman alone, making sure he was still breathing. Kurt found himself thanking all the nonexistent gods that the streets were as empty as they were; he shuddered even considering having to defend them both against vengeful gang members or, God forbid, someone like the Joker.
As they walked, Batman's mutterings never ceased, although they did break occasionally in sobs or exclamations that wrenched Kurt's heart even more. About half a block from their destination, he spat out words louder than ever. "Dad! Mom! Please don't go!"
Kurt stopped dead. Batman's voice had rung out clearly, without his usual, artificial deepness and gruffness. Without that disguise, it sounded very different... and very familiar.
Suddenly feeling weak, he quickly led Batman into the mouth of a nearby alley before he dropped him entirely, leaning both of them against the wall to rest, to gather his breath, to think. He knew that voice. There was no mistaking it. He looked up at the cowled man next to him, still insensible from inner demons only he could see. Kurt knew this was a turning point. He had a decision to make, one that would certainly haunt him for the rest of his life no matter what he chose. Kurt groaned inwardly; he'd come to Gotham to make some money, have some fun, and relax, not... not this. He swallowed.
With violently shaking hands, hands that had defused complex alarms and the most intricate of locks without a twitch, he reached for Batman's cowl. The larger man showed no reaction whatsoever. Closing his eyes for a moment, praying to the distant graves of his family to give him strength for the future, he lifted it.
He'd known what he would see there, yet he wasn't certain. He was now.
Looking wildly about him for nonexistent watchers, Kurt pulled the cowl back down; Batman, for his part, showed no sign that he was aware of what had happened in those moments. Kurt rubbed his temples, sighing. God, life, thank you for giving me yet another reason to hate you. Straightening his back once more, he lifted Batman back onto his aching shoulder and continued their trek. "Almost there," he said in an artificially light tone. He got no reply.
The rusty street signs above read "Fifth Avenue" and "Broadway." Kurt suddenly realized that he had no idea what destination Batman had in mind. A quick glance told him that he was in no condition to clarify. He looked about: abandoned storefront, darkened tenement, decrepit movie theater... Ah.
It was the single burning light not shut behind tightly drawn curtains or two-by-fours, shining from the front windows of a walk-up, the door bearing a prominent plastic-coated sign. As Kurt and Batman approached, the former confirmed the words he thought he could read from a distance: "Emma Pillsbury, M.D."
With his destination within touching distance, the load of the muscled vigilante on his shoulder suddenly increased a thousandfold. Kurt almost dragged Batman up the stairs, then jabbed at the doorbell violently.
He heard no bell within, no movement. Kurt's heart stung; it was late, and the lights could've just been to discourage drug-seekers. What if no one was in? What if...?
But there! On the other side of the door... footfalls on stairs, the shuffling of shoes. The peephole on the door blacked out for a moment. Finally, the door creaked open. On the other side stood a woman with short-cut red hair, wearing a white coat over a casual blouse and slacks. She wore standard medical gloves, her wide blue eyes quickly taking in the two figures on her doorstep. When she spoke, it was with a soft, gentle, yet commanding voice. "Bring him in."
Kurt wanted to question her, question this, her apparent knowledge and calm, but knew this was not the time. He immediately obeyed, finding himself in a cheerful, brightly lit foyer, its walls decorated with prints of classic art (a couple of which he'd stolen at one point) and lined with comfortable couches and chairs. "This way," the doctor said, gesturing towards an open door. On the other side was a standard doctor's examination room, filled with the various tools of the trade, including a bed. Dr. Pillsbury helped Kurt get Batman onto the table, which the aching young man was much grateful for.
"Scarecrow," Kurt panted, suddenly remembering that he hadn't checked to make sure his voice changer was on (which it was).
The doctor apparently needed no further explanation. She immediately went to a framed eye chart on the wall and took it down, revealing a safe. Kurt's expert eye immediately recognized it as a SecurGuard (a subsidiary of Karofsky Enterprises) X-10000, a top of the line electronic model that even he would've needed at least half an hour to break into. If it weren't for the wealthy vigilante lying just a foot away, he would've wondered what such an expensive piece of hardware was doing in the possession of a doctor in the slums.
He watched as Dr. Pillsbury rapidly tapped out a code into the safe's keypad. With a whir and a click, the locks disengaged. She swung the door open, revealing racks full of syringes and bottles. Without a pause to read the cramped typed labels, she snatched one of the syringes out and, after a swab, injected its contents into Batman's arm. His muttering and glassy look did not cease, or even slow. "It needs a minute to take effect - maybe longer, if it's fighting a new formulation," Pillsbury said without even waiting for the question.
Before Kurt could say anything, the doctor went to her phone and dialed a number. After a brief pause, she said "Code one" into the receiver and hung up immediately. Finally, she turned towards Kurt. "You looked," she said. It was a statement of fact, not a question.
Kurt opened his mouth, unsure what to say, knowing at the same time that the very fact of his uncertainty was an answer in of itself.
"I don't know what you're going to do with that information," Dr. Pillsbury continued, "but I won't let you use it to hurt him. And I can take care of myself." To many, the last sentence would've seemed like a non sequitur, but Kurt knew exactly what it meant. He'd heard Emma lock the door behind him when they first entered. He had little doubt he could overpower this woman, so obviously unpracticed in hand-to-hand combat, and he suspected she had little doubt too. But the fact that she was still willing to threaten him to his face... He knew what he had to do: demonstrate that he was no enemy, not the way she was fearing.
"I won't," he said simply, sitting in a chair with a casual air.
Dr. Pillsbury's eyes narrowed, staring at Kurt with a look that felt like it was piercing his skin; he shifted uncomfortably. "Then you know him already."
How the hell does she do that? Little wonder, though, being so close to the master of the trick himself. Now that the immediate danger was passing (Batman was calming by the second), Kurt had the luxury of kicking himself for not seeing it all sooner. He tried to tell himself it was a sign of how good David was, not how badly Kurt may or may not have been slipping. But still, he should've at least suspected...
"I met him the night his parents died," Pillsbury said. Kurt wasn't sure why she was telling this story, and he suspected she wasn't either. Perhaps she was trying to persuade him somehow, make sure he'd keep his mouth shut? "I was just a kid myself, helping my dad out at his practice... this practice. This neighborhood was different back then. It was vibrant, alive... Filled with people and businesses and..." She shook her head. "I know you probably wouldn't believe it, looking at it now, but I really think that night changed this area, maybe all of Gotham. Not just David." She heaved a sigh and continued. "They were shot in that alley just outside this building." She cocked her head towards the wall; Kurt turned towards it, forgetting there was no window there. "I heard them, in fact. I thought it was a car backfiring. But then Dad told me to get his kit, and...
"He was just kneeling there, in front of their bodies. I think he was trying to wake them up." The woman's voice was distant, as if it too were in the past. "While Dad stayed with them, I took him back here. I did my best, I really did... I even visited him at the mansion over the next month... I think... I think I saw even then what he was going to do... Even if I couldn't have even imagined how he'd do it..." She seemed to snap back to reality; she started addressing Kurt directly again, instead of speaking to the room. "He's the reason why I went to medical school, why I stayed here after Dad retired. I'm doing what I can to make Gotham a good place to live again, just like David is."
Dr. Pillsbury regarded Kurt coolly, her eyes scanning his outfit from crown to boot tip; he couldn't help but press his back against the chair. "I don't know what your deal is," she said, "but I hope you'll understand when I say I can't take you at your word about not wanting to hurt him. So I warn you: David may act like - want to be - a brooding loner, but he has friends. Powerful friends. Friends... like him." Her lips tightened into a straight line. "I'd think over how to deal with your new knowledge very carefully."
Kurt swallowed. He knew the kind of people Batman (David... God, it was still hard to make that mental connection) was associated with, and he had no desire to rile up people with incredible power rings, magical abilities, and world-moving strength. "Neither you nor... David needs to worry."
She stared at him for a long moment; Kurt felt like he was going to melt under her gaze. Finally, her look shifted to one of wonder and disbelief. "I believe you," she said softly. Kurt relaxed a little. "I don't understand you," she continued bluntly, "and I still don't entirely trust you. But you're starting to convince me you actually care about David."
"I do," Kurt replied before he could stop himself.
Pillsbury opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a series of knocks on the door - oddly rhythmic in a way that had to be deliberate. The sequence was ended by a sharp, quick chime on the doorbell. The doctor immediately went to the door and threw it open without even looking in the peephole. William, David's butler, strode in at once, doing a good job at keeping a calm face and demeanor (though not quite good enough to see his brow crinkled in worry). Huh, Kurt thought. Either he'd lost track of time, or William had broken several land speed records to make it here this fast.
"Emma," he said. Here Kurt straightened in his chair. It was just one word, but it carried a warmth and history that could have filled pages, especially when compared to the many other words he remembered the butler saying at the mansion. Interesting.
"William," she replied, the emotion even more clear in her voice. "He's in the examination room." It was then that he caught Kurt's eye; he immediately paled. "It's okay, William. She already knows."
The butler frowned, and began to speak. He stopped as soon as he saw his employer lying on the examination table. Batman appeared to be sound asleep, his breathing steady and untroubled. William strode over and, with surprising lack of effort, hefted his master to his feet. Batman seemed to awaken slightly then, shuffling his feet just enough to assist in his own movement. Kurt jumped up and took the other shoulder, helping a startled William carry Batman to the front door. Emma strode ahead and pulled it open for them, watching in silence as the three made their steady way out of her office. "Scarecrow," she muttered in William's ear as they passed. "Probably a new formulation. Took the appropriate measures. Let me know if you need anything."
Kurt heard her shut and lock the door behind them as they emerged back onto the front stoop. The stairs down were almost more difficult to maneuver than the stairs up, with the care they had to take to keep the heavy man from slipping out of their grasp. Finally, they loaded him into the back seat of the car, a nondescript sedan that Kurt had never seen before. Of course. David would never want to be picked up in a fancy car that could be traced to him.
William only turned his attention back to Kurt once the door was shut on his charge. He coughed, his face turning serious. Kurt had long experience reading people, and on the butler's face there was a shade of... what? Darkness? Danger? It certainly confirmed what Pillsbury had said earlier: David had friends, friends who would protect him under any circumstance. "I, er... I trust Emma... Dr. Pillsbury... spoke to you about..."
Kurt knew what he had to do then. It was by no means necessary, or even smart, but his conviction on this reached deep into a place he'd thought closed off forever. He simply slipped his goggles and skullcap off his head.
The butler gaped. "M-Mr. Hummel...?"
"Don't worry, William," he said in his natural voice, the electronic device at his throat turned off. "Tell David he doesn't have to worry. His secret is safe with me. And you can tell him mine if you want. Let him know... I'll understand if he never wants to see me again. I may not even stay in Gotham very much longer now. I just... I wish..."
He couldn't finish. It was too much. He put his goggles and skullcap back on and almost sprinted away, flipping himself onto a nearby fire escape and launching his body up the ladder with reckless speed. Anything to get away from David, from his butler's stare, from everything running in his head.
He ran, seeking forgetfulness in the freedom of the night.