Penguin doesn't have to spend much time wrestling with himself over the idea of following Jerome around anymore. It's easier to feel like it's his own game when he gets far more out of it than Jerome does. He's using Jerome, despite appearances. Someone now personally brings him a tray with well seasoned dishes, and since he doesn't have to wait in line for food, he has more time to relax and enjoy what he eats. The guards are a little more lenient on him these days and that's also no doubt also Jerome's doing. Everyone is afraid of Jerome, and that includes the shady Asylum staff. He hasn't been summoned for any more 'therapy' in months and it's the greatest gift Jerome has ever given him.
Barrow's mutilation is all the rage in the Asylum's whispered news. Though clearly Jerome's work, he hasn't gotten caught. It inspires more terror in the others as it becomes clear that Jerome never gets caught. Nobody dares. Oswald feels like he's got a part of that awe-inspiring power now too; Jerome gave it to him. The other inmates don't dare to touch him anymore. In fact, most are too jittery to even make direct eye contact with Oswald let alone wander into his personal space, and that is exactly how The Penguin likes it. He will be venerated.
He's on top of the world. For a moment, as he realizes his new position, Oswald is back in Gotham's underworld, ruling with pride and feeding off everyone else's fear.
Sitting in Jerome's lap a few times a day is a small price to pay in return for such power and luxury. In fact, he'd admit it's more comfortable than the cold, metal prison benches anyway. Or the floor. When Jerome wants to be entertained, Oswald makes sure he is. When he feels whimsical and asks for a kiss, Oswald gives him a quick peck. It's easy and simple, and Oswald comes to like it that way.
It's a standard, unexceptional day when the guards escort in a trail of new patients. They're from another asylum across the river, also built and specially designed for the criminally insane, just outside of Gotham's city line. A fire had burnt it down in one inmate's escape, and even though most of the patients had gotten away, there's still a good half a busload joining them in Arkham today.
New people means new 'acts' for Jerome. He's easily bored with repeated material, but they're running out of fresh folks to torture and humiliate. Since Oswald had been put in charge of procuring new entertainment for him, new arrivals was good news for him. Jerome had given him the task after Oswald put together a special little skit for him. He'd wanted to give Jerome a sort of "thank you" gift for all he'd been doing for him. Mother had raised Oswald with impeccable manners after all, and it was only polite.
Oswald had convinced two of Arkham's most corrupt guards to meet with him once every few days to practice with the promise of the chance to have fun with their least favorite inmates and fall into Jerome's good favor in one swoop. Usually there were never any Arkham officials in the rec room when Jerome's posse met up, but this time was an exception. Oswald practiced with them for a few weeks before he was satisfied enough to show Jerome what he'd accomplished.
The inmates were tied to their opposing guards, arm to arm, leg to leg and back to chest so the guards could walk around and move the men with them like they were puppets. They staged a fight with some quintessential, dramatic dialogue that Oswald knew Jerome would appreciate. They listed some obscure reasons why they were fighting in strange (clear attempt at foreign) accents, giving each other little shoves, whatever would be entertaining to Jerome.
"You slept with my mother!"
"You slept with my father's sister's cousin."
"I've always hated your hamster!"
Truly and intentionally ridiculous.
Oswald wasn't actually sure it would be that entertaining (it certainly wasn't to him), but he watched Jerome's lips quirk now and then, so they were doing something right.
With their body movement out of their own control, the inmates beat each other black and blue. The guards moving them would offer taunts and make them hit each other again. It was an easy success with Jerome after there was a fair amount of bloody violence.
The guards got to take out their frustration and create some favor with Arkham's worst, Jerome got a show, and Oswald got to show his appreciation. Everybody wins. Well... everyone except the two beaten and bloodied inmates.
Jerome tossed an arm around Oswald's neck and praised him with a smile, "Ah ha! What a laugh! It's not quite an Oscar, but I could see daytime TV!" He giggled before leaning closer to purr into his ear, "And here I thought you kept running off to plan your escape."
"With these two idiots?" Oswald huffed. "Not likely. They're too easily swayed. I'd pay them to help and they'd get themselves a promotion for turning me in as soon as the money was in their hands."
"Always such a clever birdy. No mean old puddy tat gonna catch you." he grinned.
Oswald snickered and went back to watching the show. One of the punches hit a guard instead of the intended victim and in a bit of surprised frustration, he aimed his stooge's next punch at the other guard's head as retaliation. After the guards realized that they were both hitting each other and not their silent partners, they'd started beating harder to get around the inmates. Jerome had clapped and cackled when the they beat each other onto the floor, still attached to their unconscious partners.
It was an unexpected turn of events, but the bloodied, bumbling battle of four had Jerome coming undone with laughter, so no harm done.
Oswald wrote about the new arrivals in his letter to Ed, wondering if, when Arkham inevitably filled up, he'd be escorted somewhere else. He may very well be taken out of Gotham someday, and he'd love to see Edward before that happened. He doesn't explicitly ask Ed to come see him though... He can't do that. It would break the illusion of friendship he's built through these one sided letters. Oswald simply skirts around the idea and wishes, hopes maybe Ed will read between the lines and decide to drop by. Even if it's just once. That would be enough. He places the letter into the carrier tentatively, like this one held more value than any of the other letters had.
Maybe, if he treated this letter with the utmost care , Ed would be swayed. Ed would come see him.
He doesn't.
Jerome is messing with Oswald's hair today, teasingly tugging on the tight strands of his bangs and laughing when Oswald makes a fuss about it. He bats Jerome's hands away a couple times, but it doesn't deter him for more than a couple seconds. Oswald had bribed a guard for some hair gel a few days prior and felt a little more at home wearing his familiar hairstyle. It had unexpectedly attracted Jerome's attention.
Now he's wondering if he should have just left it as it was. It would have saved him the embarrassment of Jerome's teasing and a few hundred dollars in bribes.
"So fancy ," Jerome razzes, going so far as to completely ruffle his finely combed hair into a messy disaster.
Oswald gapes, "I just fixed it!"
"You can fix it again during shower time. Chill out." he snorts, "Penguins should always be chill."
"That's never funny." Oswald grunts, trying to tame his hair down again and having no luck. "I'm time pressed during shower block anyway. I can't just waste valuable time fixing up my hair in there. The lines always take too long and they rush me through the showers."
Jerome hums. "Would it be easier if you had 'em to yourself for an hour?"
Oswald pauses, momentarily stunned; he lowers his hands with a frown, "You could do that?"
Jerome's eyes roll as if to say, "Well duh."
"I..." Oswald doesn't know quite what to say. He's happy and grateful. He settles for the form of thank you that they've grown accustomed to over the last few months, and kisses Jerome's cheek. "I'd like that. Thank you very much, Jerome."
He's rewarded with a twisted little smile. Oswald would have been hesitant (Jerome's wicked grins meant danger for most) but after spending so much time around Jerome, he's realized that when the cut corners of his mouth upturn like that it's not meant to be a threat. It's as genuine a smile as Jerome's marred face can make. He almost wants to plant another kiss on him just because of it. Jerome's genuine smiles are a rarity and he'd love to be able to encourage more. He'd love to make Jerome smile a lot. He thinks better of it though, deciding instead to just lean against Jerome's chest and not fight him off when he goes to fuck with Oswald's hair again.
If Jerome wants to comment on his sudden resignation, he doesn't show it, but his teasing eventually dies down to a casual pet.
It's so nice to have time to himself under the warm, pebbled spray of water. The privacy of in-home showers was something Oswald would never take advantage of again. Standing under the heated falls without a care reminds Oswald of being home: able to take showers for as long as he wanted without any lingering eyes or jabby hands encouraging him to go faster. He feels relaxed and relieved. It's nice to be alone with his thoughts like this, away from the poking and prodding of other inmates and the watchful eyes of guards.
He takes the time to work through what ails him as the heated water works through his sore muscles.
He thinks about Ed, wonders if he ever reads Oswald's letters. He wonders if he ever plans to reply.
He thinks about Martin, still caught in Sofia's finely polished claws.
He thinks about himself and wonders if he's really ready to adopt Martin once he's out of Arkham and Sofia is dead. It's weighed on him a lot. He so very much wants to have Martin in his life. He always liked the kid, and apart from the obvious shadow of himself he sees in the boy, he knows one day he'll need to pass on his legacy to someone. He can groom Martin into the next ruler of Gotham's underworld and trust that his name will live on long after he's gone….
but also...
Oswald wants Martin because he's lonely.
He likes the idea of having someone to share his time with at the end of the day when he wants to decompress. He longs to have someone who will stick around after hours without demanding a favor of Oswald. He wants someone who will want to be around Oswald just because they like him. He wants to spoil someone rotten with everything that he has. What was the point of it all without anyone to share it with anyway?
When he's done, he heads back to his room and sits down to write Ed. He asks him if he'll check in on Martin and tell him how he's doing. He needs to know that Martin is safe- that he'll be fine. He tacks on a carefully crafted sentence at the end that he knows will speak to a bit of Ed's sensitivity for the well being of the innocent. He knows Ed's got a soft spot for the shy, smart, and troubled ones. Maybe it will compel him to at least look into it, even if he doesn't write Oswald back with the results. He might not bother, but Oswald chooses to believe that he will.
The thought helps lull him sleep.
Peace and quiet within Arkham never lasts long though.
There's an inmate found in a supply closet the next morning without his eyes….
Well, he had his eyes. They just weren't in his head.
He's alive, but whatever happened had clearly been an extremely traumatic experience. When he was found, he'd been clutching onto his removed eyes like they were a lifeline, rocking back and forth and murmuring over and over in panicked repetition. Stop stop stop stop please stop stop stop please don't take them.
Oswald is uncomfortable as he watches the guards lift the man up, coaxing his... eyeballs out of his hands and meeting insubordination as the poor man desperately tries to get them back. He screams at them and demands they give them back before breaking down and begging.
It's revealed later that the poor man was raped on top of everything else.
It's absolutely disgusting. Oswald wants to hurl his perfectly cooked Omelette Savoyarde into the trash when the news finally gets to their circle, but he fights to keep it in his stomach. It would be a sad waste of perfectly good French cuisine.
The next one is found a day later, eyes cut out and his pants tangled around his ankles. The cuts are deeper and more crude than they were on the first man they'd found. Whatever tool his attacker had used to take out the eyeballs had gone too far in and caused some severe damage. He hadn't survived the resulting blood loss. The doctor states that the corpse is a good few days cold, so he was killed before the other victim had been attacked. It certainly explained the difference between the... removals. He was learning how to go about it.
Oswald does lose his dinner this time when he catches a glimpse of the body being hauled out on a stretcher. The smell alone is putrid enough to make Oswald's stomach churn, but the way the rigormortis had set made the sight all the more gruesome. Terrified arms covering himself, blood everywhere- it's a real sight. Oswald finds himself shuffling back and away from it until he's nearly pressed against Jerome's body standing behind him. He won't admit it's a little comforting, even if Jerome doesn't touch him or offer any comfort. Just being near him settles his nerves a little.
Maybe if he sticks close enough to Jerome-the deadliest man in the asylum -whoever is doing this won't try going after Oswald.
There's two more found not even a full twenty four hours apart after that, and it's painfully clear that the warden has no clue who's behind it or how to stop it. Oswald wonders if they're going to call the GCPD in to investigate. Maybe he can convince Gordon to help him get out of here before anything happens to him . He doesn't hold out much hope though. The people in charge don't seem to want to call the police in on their personal affairs. They hardly ever do. Even if they did, Oswald doubts Jim would actually bother to help him. Not after everything he's done.
Jerome sticks a little closer to Oswald after the fifth victim is found. He hardly ever lets Oswald out of his sight by the sixth and there's an extra guard posted in their hallway all of a sudden.
Oswald isn't sure if he's nervous or just taking wise precautions. Either way, he's insanely grateful and feels all the safer for it.
It's unclear if the mystery rapist goes for the eyes first, deciding to take out his pleasure on his victim after the deed, or if he does it as a safety precaution afterword, so they can't identify him.
Oswald tries not to let it get to him as he showers. He forces the paranoia away when he leaves his room, and he's almost to the shower block with his towel and loofah when he makes the decision that only happy thoughts will be allowed during his precious alone time. He's excited to be rid of the stress the last few days have built up in his neck. He's standing between the rows of lockers, shirt over his head before he actually hears the quiet sobs coming from the showers.
Nobody should have been in the shower block during this time, it's been clear for an hour. Jerome's people make sure of it the hour before Oswald comes in.
He twists his shirt in his hands until it tightens into a rope. If he has to, he could strangle someone with it.
His steps into the tiled showers are slow and careful. He listens for the sobbing, holding the makeshift weapon at chest height as he creeps closer. When he finally gets a look at the source, he lets the shirt fall to his side.
It's another victim. He's coiled around himself and shaking like a leaf. His eyes are spread out on the floor, one near his feet and another rolling around the drain by his head with the falling water.
He calls a guard and sits with the man until help arrives. He's not good with comforting people, but he tries. God knows this poor devil wouldn't get it anywhere else in Arkham. He wonders, as the guards drag him up and off the floor, if the staff will even be a little considerate. These people didn't care about the inmates.
Jerome gives Oswald a skeleton key to the cells when he sees him again at dinner. He doesn't say anything in regards to it, but the message is clear. He can get in and out if needed and he can find Jerome if something happens. Get out if you need to. Oswald doesn't know if that's the intended purpose, if Jerome wants Oswald to come looking for him if he's in trouble or if it's just so he can roam freely. Jerome doesn't offer any explanation either.
As they sit to eat, he presses the key in his palms and thinks about escape and leaving Arkham. He hasn't spent nearly enough time planning to actually do it. Martin would still be at risk if he tried to leave so early, but it's an option now. He'd have to figure out how to get by the guards at the front door and the cage door that stands in between, but this is a start.
He doesn't know how Jerome would react if he escaped now either, and some part of him worries that he might come after Oswald. He might be angry. That wasn't the point of the key anyway. It was for Oswald's safety.
Once again he owes Jerome, and once again he repays him with a small kiss to his marred cheek.
He's washing his hair when he hears the faint clatter of someone else in the shower block. Oswald is instantly alert, turning fast and wiping the water from his eyes in a panic when he realizes there's a presence standing in front of him. The rapist must have gotten in. Images flash in his mind of the man on the floor, weeping through eyes that couldn't cry, the corneas on the floor feet away from him. He thinks of what else the mystery assailantant does and remembers thinking that not all the blood on the floor had been from the man's eyes.
There wasn't a guard posted on his shower time. It would have been so easy. When the suds are finally out of his eyes he opens them, preparing for a fight, and all the tension drains from him in a rush of relief when he realizes it's only Jerome.
Only Jerome? At what point had he stopped considering Jerome dangerous? He was an estranged acquaintance at best and an unpredictable threat at worst.
"Easy tiger," Jerome grins, "I haven't come for your eyes."
Oswald realizes that Jerome was thinking about it too. He briefly wonders if Jerome was worried about him, and if that's why he's here, but he catches the double meaning behind Jerome's words and thinks better of it. He scoffs, "Have you come for my backside then?"
Jerome's leer is sin, the upturned corners of his mouth seem genuine, but his eyes promise all sorts of things Oswald isn't sure he wants to think about.
"I'm not a big fan of rape, ya see?" he finally says, and Oswald notices there's little space between them at this point.
The spray of the shower is soaking Jerome's uniform, but he looks like he could care less.
"There's chaos for chaos' sake, violence for chaos, violence for pleasure," he rolls the word and digs his nails into Oswald's skin. "But that rape shit... That's a whole nother brand of crazy. Real nastybusiness."
Oswald tries to make sense of his jumbled explanation so he can agree, but loses his train of thought when Jerome's hand slips over his naked backside. "Now, if your partner is revved up and ready to go, that's another story."
He gasps, jerking away from the hand and unintentionally forward, against Jerome's hip. A wave of horror overwhelms his as he realizes he basically just grinded up against Jerome Valeska. He's naked, wet and just touched Gotham's craziest man alive with his junk. He's about to start sputtering out a slew of apologies when Jerome digs his fingers into the skin of Oswald's naked cheeks and encourages him to do it again.
Oswald is going crazy; he knows it. He must've slipped in the shower and hit his head. Hard.
Jerome smirks, cocking his head to one side as he witnesses Oswald's panicked confusion. He takes the opportunity to lean in and bite a hard imprint into his neck right where it meets with his shoulder. Oswald chokes on his own surprised whimper, slumping forward under the assault and gripping at Jerome's shirt for some kind of support. The fabric is damp in his fingers and irritates his skin as his naked chest falls against Jerome's.
He's suddenly hyper aware of just how naked he really is in comparison to Jerome. The power imbalance implied by it has his knees buckling, overcome by the unexpected need it inspires. Oswald wants to pretend he's as keen to be the one in control inside the bedroom as he is out of it.
Jerome flirts around Oswald's hole with a finger, his other hand slipping between them to grasp Oswald's half hard cock in his steady hand.
He's hit his head. This is a hallucination.
Oswald gasps when Jerome spreads the skin between his cheeks with two fingers and lets the spray of the water slip in and around like a caress. "What are you doing?" he finally asks, breathy and soft, his voice overrun with hesitance.
"Relax." The corner of Jerome's lips quirk up and he leans into Oswald's ear, "Just lending a little… helping hand."
Oswald groans, turning his head back and forth against Jerome's shoulder as the clown strokes him to his full potential. It's agonizingly good and Oswald doesn't want to pretend that he wants Jerome to stop. It doesn't seem worth it in the long run.
Instead he wraps his own fingers around Jerome's and encourages a faster rhythm, much to Jerome's surprise. He giggles, licking into the shell of Oswald's ear and thrusting against their knuckles with a groan. Jerome is hard against him, Oswald realizes, and he's about to comment on it, maybe offer his own hand, but the finger impatiently slipping inside of him closes up his throat. It's a startling intrusion, but not exactly unwelcome.
Oswald realizes with some hint of rue that he hasn't given himself pleasure like this in a long time. He hasn't touched himself in ages, and he hasn't done anything back there since his early days of fantasizing over Ed; back when his lust was unsustainable and his head was fuzzy with love. He doesn't want to think about Ed right now, not when Jerone's done so much to deserve his undivided attention. It's not hard to put the thought from his mind when Jerome's finger begins to wriggle in and out of him in rapid succession.
A whine forces its way out of Oswald's throat as Jerome presses up into him, brushing against the little spot that shoots stars into his eyes and makes him dizzy with lust.
Oswald writhes back against his hand, fighting between the need to feel Jerome's finger deeper and thrusting up into his hand. It's a hard battle, to decide between the two breathtaking sensations and Oswald's body fights him to attempt both. He cums over his and Jerome's joined hands before he gets the chance to choose.
He spills between them with a surprised squeak and clings to Jerome's shoulders as he throws his head back.
Jerome slams Oswald back against the shower wall by his throat and holds Oswald at arm's length when he pulls himself out of the confines of his asylum uniform. He keeps a furious pace as he stares at Oswald, naked, dripping and grasping onto the end tails of his orgasm with Jerome's fingers curled around his neck. He must look a sight because Jerome never stops raking hungry, appreciative eyes over him. It's a rush to see it and feel so wanted.
When he cums, the splatter lands across Oswald's feet. The water falls down Oswald's legs and carries it away quickly and Jerome almost looks sad to see it go. Oswald wonders if cumming on Oswald gave him the same kind of sense of power it had given Oswald to stain Jerome's hand with his own.
Oswald is careful not to drop too many hints about what exactly had transpired in the showers when he writes to Ed. He dances around the topic and slyly asks Ed if he'd ever traded 'favors' during his time in Arkham. He's certain Ed won't reply to this one, but the idea makes him chuckle.
When the recreational hour rolls around the next day and Oswald plants himself back into Jerome's lap where he belongs, Jerome is a little more handsy than usual. Oswald chocks it up to an assumed license to intimacy after their time together in the showers and doesn't comment on it.
Oswald is just deciding to say something when he's interrupted by a collection of crude curses being shouted in the hall. The doors burst open and a line of inmates are being forced onto their knees in front of them like an offering. Oswald realizes rather quickly that they're the new patients from the Asylum across the river, and he gives Jerome a questioning look when he taps Oswald on the thigh in silent instruction to get up.
Oswald stands obediently near their shared seat as Jerome makes his way over to the row of people, strolling down the line with an air of confidence that makes Oswald shiver and the struggling inmates go still and silent. This is what he admires about the man, the way Jerome can completely capture a room with so little effort.
"Well hello there, gentlemen!" Jerome greets, all eerie cheer and menacing promise, "My name, is Jerome."
There's a flicker of recognition amongst the men and Oswald can see the fear creeping up on them. Jerome's famous, in and out of Gotham, for his escapades. There's no way they haven't heard of him. If his name isn't enough to recognize him then surely the mangled scars that circle his face are. A few of them flinch away and others try to steel their gazes, facial features tightening with false grit. It's blindingly clear that they're all very afraid and Oswald loves to see it.
"Pleasure to meet you all," Jerome continues, bent forward as he walks so that his face passes by within mere inches of the nervous inmates', "but I'm afraid you're not here just for a friendly little welcome party."
Oswald watches with piqued professional interest as Jerome intimidates the crowd.
"Somebody, " he snarls, voice gravelly and deep enough to entice goosebumps onto Oswald's skin, "has been very naughty."
There's a fearful silence in the group as the men start to stare at one another accusingly. Their eyes all snap back to Jerome when he straightens and grins wickedly, "And I'm going to torture each and every one of you bastards until I know who done it."
There's a blur of time as teeth are pulled, nails are stripped away from fingers, and one poor soul loses his pinky toe before somebody squeaks, "Please …. Please, we don't know anything."
Jerome kicks him in the face.
"This shit didn't start up until you fucksticks showed up a week ago." Jerome leers, cocking his head to the side and smiling the awful, familiar smile that all of Gotham's news channels had called haunting. "I run this place. I don't care how it worked over there, but here ," Jerome spread his arms with a flourish before bringing them up to his face, "I run the show ."
One of the men starts sniffling and Jerome rolls his eyes.
"I'll give you shitstains another day to think it over," he finally says, gesturing his head towards his men. "Then I forget to be patient and kill you all just to be safe."
The men are pulled off their knees and dragged back to their cells without another word and Oswald stands, amazed. Mark me down as scared and horny. He entertains the idea of asking Jerome to teach him how he does it, but pride prevents him from following through.
Jerome spins back to Oswald with a pleased giggle and slips a hand around his waist, cupping his cheek with the other and planting a big ol' kiss right on his lips.
Oswald has learned to covet his precious shower hour and make the most of his time alone. Today he's ready to step under the cold water and wash away the intoxicating image of Jerome reducing a string of criminally insane men into crying little boys.
He's always had a thing for power, and seeing Jerome in action like that had done things to his body he was a little ashamed of.
Oswald stripped quickly and spun the metal nozzle that started the water. He wet his hair and squirted a generous amount of shampoo into his palm before working the suds into his scalp. He's got his head under the water to rinse when he gets around to wondering if Jerome will come and join him again. He wants to work up to a release again today, but he'd rather do it with Jerome.
When he feels a warm body sneaking up behind him Oswald smiles and assumes that's exactly who it is…
The sharp pain in his head as he's yanked away from the water by his hair is unexpected and sends him toppling onto his back.
He spends a moment gasping, trying to force the air that's been knocked out of him back into his lungs, before he chances a look up at the looming figure staring down at him.
Oswald immediately recognizes him from the line up earlier as the man who'd spat his molars out at Jerome. He's the rapist. Oswald is lying naked on the floor with a serial rapist leering at him. He's going to die like this, he's sure of it. Oswald opens his mouth to say something, try to talk himself out of this, but he's given a swift kick to his side before he has the chance.
"Please…" Oswald whimpers, desperately trying to think of a way to get himself out of this.
"You're that clown's pretty pet birdy ," he spits, like the idea disgusts him, and Oswald knows this isn't just about him.
He's got less of a chance to talk his way free now. Whatever motivation this man has for targeting Oswald, it's got to do with Jerome.
Oswald scoots on the floor until his back hits the patterned tile of the shower block wall. He brings a hand up to cover his eyes, hoping he can deter his assailant at least somewhat. He'll lose his eyes, his virginity too, but if he's lucky it won't be his life. He tries to concentrate on what the man says and commit that gritty voice to his memory. He wants to be able to return the favor when it's all said and done.
Grimy hands grab his naked thighs and drag him away from the wall. His head hits the floor with a crack that sounds dangerous, but Oswald ignores it. It's back burner compared to the issue currently holding Oswald's legs down. "Bastard's gonna think twice about threatenin' me," the man preens.
Oswald doesn't dare to lift his arm and see what's happening. He wants to keep as much attention away from his eyes as he can. With any luck, he may be able to escape with his eyes still in his skull. He's gripping Oswald with a tight pinch, spitting foul curses at him while scratching up and down his legs. It's a disgusting touch- nothing like how Jerome's had been -his mind idly supplies. He feels nauseous when the man touches him in some of the same places he'd found so pleasurable when it had been Jerome, now entirely perverse and unwelcome.
He wants to scream and struggle, but keeping his arms around his face is his top priority.
There's a sudden pressure at his hole and Oswald wants to weep. This is going to hurt more than any other sort of torture. This will take Oswald's pride away with it. He steels himself with a heavy, shuddering breath and prepares for the worst.
But before he can go any further, the man holding him down is suddenly gone and Oswald is alone.
He's scared to open his eyes immediately, thinking it may simply be a ploy, but he hears pained grunts and shouts of surprise that eventually spurr him into action. He lifts an arm to peek and spies Jerome, towering over his half-naked assailant and ruining him.
For a moment, Oswald forgets how to breathe. There's so much blood and... chunks of things flying everywhere around him.
Jerome is a beautifully horrid sight, fist crashing into the man's head again and again in a raged frenzy. He's like an unstoppable force, beating the man into the tiles like he's nothing when the force of his actions implies it's everything. Oswald can't tell if Jerome is that angry at first, he's hurt people far worse for much less, but there's a small tremble in his hand as he lays into the man. He's pissed. The water runs red into the drains after a few seconds, and Oswald is sure that Jerome has killed him.
There's the click of a switchblade that Oswald is all too familiar with, and Jerome crouches over the twitching body. There's a terrible sound, a sickening squelch that makes Oswald's skin crawl, and then Jerome is coming over to him. He doesn't say anything. His eyes look distant and faded. It's such an unnatural look on Jerome's usually clear and alert face that Oswald finds himself feeling scared. He hasn't been afraid of Jerome since their first few weeks in Arkham.
Jerome comes over to Oswald and stoops down into a crouch, holding out his hand out to offer something to him. Oswald can't even tell what it is at first, there's so much blood and it's... extremely mauled. When he finally recognizes that Jerome has castrated the man and is offering Oswald his cut off penis, he starts to gag. He almost faints. Nausea jabs at him in violent demand that he stop looking at it, but he can't. Jerome had fucking neutered someone for... for threatening Oswald?
There's question as to whether it's really for Oswald's sake, or just another way for Jerome to vent his cruel, aggressive tendencies. But that tremble is still there.
He's too scared to touch the thing in Jerome's hand, so he carefully shifts Jerome's arm until he drops it onto the floor. When there's no longer any danger of having to make contact with... it, Oswald moves forward to wrap his arms around Jerome and mutters a frightened and breathy "Thank you ".
There's blood coming from Jerome's face and Oswald assumes his attacker had tried to defend himself. Jerome doesn't complain when Oswald touches it. He doesn't say anything when Oswald tries to coax some reassurance out of him, and he hadn't hugged back when Oswald thanked him. He's honestly a little worried that something has snapped inside Jerome when he suddenly stands and pivots around, back now to Oswald.
Jerome's knuckles are white around the man's shiv, shoulders haunched as he addresses Oswald coolly, "Why don't you head on home, darlin'. I promise I'll try not to work too late tonight." And the warning in his words is so clear they have Oswald fumbling with the effort to stand as quickly as he can on shaky legs to get out of there.
He's not sure what Jerome will do, but he's knows it's not worth waiting around to find out.
When Oswald writes to Ed, he's full of anger and hurt. He's humiliated by the whole affair. He scribbles out the words without finesse and forgoes his trademark use of the English language. His vocabulary is mainly curses. When he's done he doesn't bother re-reading it for any corrections, but he does have to stop to take a breath. He wonders how Ed would react to the letter, if he'd worry. No, Ed wouldn't worry. In fact, Ed would probably think he was weak. He'd clammed up in the moment of pressure, when it mattered. He'd needed Jerome's help. He wasn't strong enough to fend for himself. Oswald crumples the letter up in a fist before tossing it away and going to bed instead.
The guards find the mangled body outside the warden's office the next day. His eyes are gone and his... meat has been shoved into his mouth. More prominently noticeable, are the deep cuts sliced into his chest. The word 'rapist' can be sort of seen somewhere within in the mess of it.
When he meets up with Jerome for breakfast, he doesn't bother with his pride or think about Jerome's reputation. Oswald wraps his arms around Jerome's shoulders and buries his face in Jerome's uniform.
Its immediately clear that Jerome doesn't know how to respond. He stiffens, arms coming up in a mock surrender as Oswald hugs him. "Thank you," Oswald whispers, words racing out of him in a gasp.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He feels like he might be crying a little bit, but his face is buried so no one can see even if he is. It doesn't matter.
Jerome's hands cautiously settle on Oswald's back in an awkward reciprocation. Oswald realizes it might have been years since Jerome was hugged... maybe longer. As he pulls away Oswald realizes there actually a fair chance Jerome has never been hugged before. His face is unreadable as he stares as Oswald, hands still sort of awkwardly hanging around his lower back. He looks like he's not sure what to do with himself now. The idea that someone as powerful as Jerome, feared throughout Gotham, rose from the dead-though technically Oswald has done it a couple times himself-and who created such a legacy of fear had come completely undone with a mere hug... it was absurd.
Oswald laughed before he could think better of it.
"Hey now," Jerome said, finally breaking into a smile before giggling right along with him, "maniac laughter is my thing."