Chapter Text
It took him longer to notice that, than usual. But there was a sharp, pulsating pain under his ribs. A reminder, that even full of adrenalin and rushed by fear, Jonathan still couldn’t push himself past his limits without feeling it later.
He would have loved to stop and take a break, but the Bat was right on his tail. If he turned his head, he would instantly spot a bulky, dark figure getting closer and closer. Just a few strides away from sizing up his elbow or sailing a tight fist into his cheek.
And we can’t have that, can we? Something inside his temple echoed menacingly, making his legs move faster, abusing shaking, tense muscles, until he had to force down a raspy cough.
“Knock it off, Crane. Enough with these games.” the Bat told him. Unfairly, but unsurprisingly not too ruffled from the chase. There was no strain in his voice, and no extra tension in his posture.
In comparison, Jon’s own body was trembling, his vision swam, blurred slightly in the very corner of his eyes. His throat felt dry and uncooperative, but he did manage to find it in himself to respond, “I haven’t done anything yet, Bat-bully!”
It was an open, honest sneer. But it did very little to make Batman consider doing him any favors. He stubbornly moved toward him, like Jon said nothing at all. Like him not being up for no good wasn’t enough for the Bat to leave him alone! And Jonathan –
No, the Scarecrow was nearly cornered. Almost apprehended, before the real stand-off could even begin. It made his head spin, blood pumping inside his ears so loudly, that he could barely make out any other sounds.
“Stay back!” the Scarecrow barked, unable to mask a twang of panic inside his voice. Unlike the Bat, he was absolutely unprepared for a fight. “Don’t come any closer!”
Batman stared at him, barely holding back what Jon assumed was a tired sigh. “Crane.”
“Crane is not here!” the Scarecrow bristled, taking a step back, then another and another one. Batman mirrored his pace, taking a couple steps forward. His shadow grew bigger and bigger, about to swallow the strawman whole. “I hav’ - I haven’t done anythin’! I’ve done nothin’, Batman!”
The Scarecrow repeated, more desperately now. A couple backtracks more, and there will be a wall behind him. His options would rapidly slim down to him attempting to take on the Bat. And as it was known, it never went well for him.
He could keep up with the vigilante for a short period of time, but eventually Batman will land a hit that he wouldn’t be able to take. After that, it would be back to Arkham for him. Back to cold walls, tasteless food and mind-numbing medication.
It was hard enough to escape this time, with security tightened, and some of the staff getting used to his tricks.
He dreaded to imagine how long it might take him to break out again.
“You need help.” the Bat stated, calmly. Almost reassuringly.
If the Scarecrow didn’t know any better, he might have assumed that the other man tried to avoid messing him up, if he didn’t have to. But this just couldn’t have been right. The Bat was like all those jocks from his past. Large and strong, enjoying the fact, that Jon had to put double effort into what took them no effort at all.
“What I need is for you to back off.” he replied tersely, mind racing. “I won’t go back there. You – you can’t make me!”
He was graced with no answer this time. The hair on Jonathan’s neck stood on its ends, as he recognized the slight change in Batman’s posture. The other male was about to attack. Clearly, deciding to switch back to his usual approach, since all that sweet-talk failed to pursue the Scarecrow into lowering his guard down.
But what he said before was true! He hasn't done anything criminal yet! He didn’t even have time to set-up the first stage of his plan. It was a rather simple, classic scheme. Poison the closest water reserve, take notes, see the results.
He had improved his latest formula, but it was out of the question, if he could test it on Batman, when he didn’t know if it worked like he intended it to or not. It would be beyond humiliating, if it barely made a difference. Or had side-effects that he won’t be able to reverse.
“Give it up.” the dark silhouette told him in a more familiar, gravely tone. “There is nowhere to go, Crane.”
Behind the burlap, the Scarecrow’s eyes widened. Because the Bat was right. Jon didn't realize that he continued slowly walking backwards, right until his back hadn't collided with the wall.
A small spooked gasp escaped him; heavy breath staling behind clenched teeth as he understood his mistake. This was what the Bat-bully had wanted all along! Talk his ear off, only so that he could close in on him and trap him! And he had played straight into his hands!
Again!
“Crane –”
“Stop calling me that!” he shouted, fear instantly shifting into something resembling an ugly fury. “I’ve told you, Jonathan Crane is not here! It’s just me, the Scarecrow!”
He moved his footing, shoulders raising up, manic energy surging through his veins. The only exit was blocked by the Bat, but he’d be damned if he at least didn’t try to get to it. And despite the nagging feeling - even if he knew that it was stupid and impulsive - he attacked first.
His boot landed against Batman’s bicep as the dark knight blocked his fist kick. However, it didn’t stop the Scarecrow’s lips from quirking into crooked smirk, when he heard a groan of strain coming from him. He didn’t hold back on this one.
“Are you losing your touch, Bat-bully!?” he taunted, using a rare chance to glee.
“Stop it.”
By instinct alone, the Scarecrow managed to lean away, when Batman attempted to get a grip on his tunic.
“Good try!” he laughed, ignoring how his throat protested from such rough sound. “How about this one? Can you take it!?”
Side-step, sharp turn and —
Batman lunged forward, one arm flying into his direction. Gloved fist swishing right next to his ear. Jonathan barely had time to avoid it. Quickly skimming to the left, throwing a punch of his own. Shortly after finding himself ducking under Batman’s leg, when he was about to kick him into the stomach.
It was chaotic, unrelenting, but at the same time, it felt like there was a rhythm. It always felt this way. So much so, that Jon almost forgot that they were fighting on different sides of law, rather than having a bizarre courtship dance in the middle of an abandoned building.
But he was reminded of how delusional those thoughts were soon enough, as the pointy shadow fell over him, bigger than ever. Then not a moment later, a strong hand slammed him backwards. His head hit against the wood with a dull sound. Black dots filled his vision, blinking above the Bat's head like an army of dark fireflies.
The width of Batman's palm effortlessly covered Jon’s throat, squeezing with enough force to make him gasp. And despite himself, Jonathan’s hips twisted up in arrested half-buck. He liked to think, that his body did those things to lessen the pressure on his windpipe, but it was never that simple.
“Enough.” the Bat declared, sounding like he always did. Unmoving and unbudging. “You’re going back to Arkham."
The protest was about to escape the Scarecrow’s tongue, but the Bat closed the lock of his fingers right under Jon’s Adam's apple. Forcing him to remain still. His eyes bulged out with a low angry sizzle.
“It’s not a request, Crane.”
Jonathan shot him a dark look through the fabric of his mask, for a second losing the grip on the situation. This was unfair! The Bat wasn’t supposed to find him just yet!
“Thsshh – they —” he took a quick, raspy breath. Blinking rapidly, hoping to somehow clear his head. “They won’t help me there, Batman. Th-they don’t want to help me.”
Whatever, the Bat was expecting to hear, it clearly wasn’t this. His pose didn’t shift nor did the amount of strength that he applied against Jon’s throat lessened, but the Scarecrow knew the other man long enough to notice the very little shear there and here. The likes of the vigilante’s chin slowly tilting, or that particular way in which his face tightened.
The man’s usual defenses weren't down, but he was giving him a chance to talk. It was good. Jonathan still had something up his sleeve, but he needed to do it right. He had just one try. He couldn’t screw it up.
“I –”
The Scarecrow winced, fingers instinctively pawing at Batman’s thick wrist. Noting that the dark knight was still going easy on him. His grip didn’t even cut out the oxygen fully, just squeezed his throat enough to make him dizzy. Sometimes he wasn’t that forgiving, and Jon lost consciousness before they reached Arkham.
“It won’t help me.” Jonathan’s tongue slid against the back of his teeth, mind scraping and clinging to all the things, that he usually thought in moments of ‘clearness’, of rare clarity, when the white walls were too bright, and the pills kicked in just right. When it happened, he could see it clear as day. Could feel it twisting his insides on itself. “N-nooth-thing will.”
It wasn’t easy to force out, and he found himself almost instantly jumping back to denial. Inwardly arguing with those very words, like he wasn’t the one, who spoke them out loud.
“Won’t — wooon’t help…” he rasped, pressing his boots into the floor, hoping to find leverage, but failing miserably. “Won’t help…me.”
The white eye-slits of Batman’s mask narrowed. Jon expected to be hit, but instead there was something else that gave him a pause. Less so the useless sentiment, but rather the fact that it sounded oddly sincere.
“Something still might help.” the Bat injected not unkindly. “If you give it a try.”
Jon’s mind short circuited, as he parroted, transfixed, “Give it a try?”
Unable to stop himself, the Scarecrow burped out a hissy snort. A bitter taste settled inside his mouth. He felt his consciousness being pulled into two separate directions. The weaker, pathetic part of him, almost wanted to believe this. To recognize the possibility of something that he didn’t even need, but it wasn’t the part that he tended listening to.
“I don’t think so.” Jon muttered, spidering one of his hands above Batman’s wrist as he spoke, “I like frightening others. I like the screams. I like that they run. I’m not — I don’t need anyone to probe my brain. Nothin’ is wrong with me!”
It was impossible to fully read Batman’s expression, considering that a good half of his face was covered by a black cowl, but the Scarecrow could swore that he saw a brief disappointment brushing through those stoic features. And the most humiliating bit of it all was that it made his skin crawl, for reasons he couldn’t explain nor did he dare to.
“But I'll tell you what, something is about to be very wrong with you, Bully!” he suddenly cackled, activating the mechanism inside his glove. “Hope, you’re ready!”
The Bat’s eyes rounded, as the Scarecrow let a small dose of gas into his face. It wasn’t enough to make the vigilante hallucinate to the point of total disorientation, but it was just good enough to weaken his hold.
Jonathan didn’t waste any time breaking free, using his grasp on the man’s wrist to turn his corpus and strike the Bat into shin. It got him a groan and a chance to snake his way out, and finally be running again.
“See you, Batman!” he called back, feeling the triumph, the childish glee, that he was free. If he'll get lucky, he might make it to the north wing of the building, and use the fire exit before the Bat will be able to catch up with him.
But sadly, it wasn't what happened.
Before he could round a corner, one of Batman’s annoying, swirly toys cut through the air. Jonathan more felt, than understood what exactly happened. One moment he was sprinting, the next his legs were smashed together, wrapped up by a black, thick cable.
Jonathan tripped, hitting the floor with unflattering, shocked yelp. He had no idea how he managed to tuck his tongue behind his teeth in time, but it was fast, good thinking on his part.
The rest, admittingly, not so much.
“Curse you!” scandalized, the Scarecrow swirled around, fingers digging into snare around his feet, pulling at it to no avail. He couldn’t make it loosen fast enough. Only able to nearly wrench one boot out, while the other was still tightly wrapped by the thread. “Can’t you just stay down for once!?”
The Bat was standing a few yards away from him, gripping the other end of the rope. Breathing heavily, blinking at invincible threats, that surely were seducing his mind to pay it more attention, than he should. Yet, he was still vertical and clearly determinated to win this fight, like he did any other.
“The end of the line, Crane.” the Bat growled with one strong pull, dragging Crane’s across the dusty floor, ass and legs first. Tugging him closer like Jon was some sort of panicky, flopping fish. “This is the way, it has to be. You know it.”
“N-no!” immediately any kind of arrogant attitude was lost, all that registered with Jonathan was that Batman was about to get his hands on him again. And this time, he won’t have anything to counter him with. “Release me! N-nooo!”
Guided by impulse, he turned on his stomach, pointy ends of his gloves dug into the wood, leaving scratching marks as he was hauled closer and closer to the towering, big figure at the end of the hall. There was something about this particular visual, that always deeply unsettled him.
“B-batman, nooo!” Jon tried to kick, to pull his upper body upward, to cling to something. Nothing worked. He couldn’t compete with the Bat in physical strength. Not really. “Stop!”
“It’s over, Scarecrow.”
“Yahh!”
There was a rough hand on the back of his tunic, easily yanking him from the floor, rolling Jonathan onto his knees. The other hand was soon gripping his bony shoulder, close to his throat, but not quite here. A mute threat.
“Let go of me!” Jon hissed, awkwardly wiggling in his bonds and the Bat’s grasp. He wanted a purchase, a way to cringe away, but found none. And as soon as it sank in, he was mostly just thrashing around, not allowing the masked man to sustain him in place long enough to put the bat-cuffs on.
“Calm down, Crane.”
The Scarecrow was about to croak out another aggressive plea, but then, he heard a creak of the old woodwork. Felt the plank under his legs shifting, making a dull groan. As if a faint noise of something giving up under too much weight. His mouth clicked shut by itself, the alarm already going off inside his head. Next to him, the Bat stilled as well. Listening closely.
For a good ten seconds nothing happened.
They exchanged a single tense look. Having a mere moment, before the floor underneath them disappeared. The Scarecrow let out a short screech of surprise, feeling his clothes rising by the air, folds of fabric blowing up.
Without thinking twice, he grabbed the closest thing to him. Clinging to Batman, like a dying man would cling to the last remaining straw. Together they tumbled down, breaking through at least two more floors. The rotten wood was unable to provide any support, and there was no way to break their fall. Not even for the Bat, it seems.
Crane didn’t have any coherent thoughts, fully controlled by bare instinct to save his own skin. Fingers digging into Batman’s arm with all that he’s got. Finding it almost reassuring, that the vigilante hasn't lost his own grip on him either.
Then, they hit the lower level of the building, and none of it seemed to matter anymore.
The Scarecrow was certain that he hadn't blacked out. Nor did he lose consciousness for any prolonged periods of time, but there was a gap between the mid-fall and a couple of minutes, where his brain struggled to piece together his current situation. There was a lot of dust and debris everywhere, but nothing else that he could make out just yet.
He grunted, trying to move his corpus, but stopped himself short as sharp, apical pain shot down his neck. He blinked, attempting to move again, accidently invoking the same reaction. It was constant now, when he noticed it. The pulsating kind of pain right between his shoulder and neck. Something like a vice coiled around his throat, rubbing into it with unmerciful edges.
“Hnn…?”
Blindly his fingers reared up, ignoring the slowly growing worry, when he realized that his movements were rather limited now. It was wrong. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t understand what just yet. He couldn’t breathe properly, and it faintly smelled of blood. Was it his?
(It was.)
As soon as his glove reached his throat, sliding between the torn place on his collar, he realized that he was bleeding at the neck. Not a lot, but enough to make him dizzy with panic. With trembling hands, he touched the aching place, positively freaked out at how right against his skin there was a cold thread, wrapped around his windpipe like a noose. It really felt like one of the Bat's —
Oh.
Underneath the mask he blanched. Eyes rolling around chaotically, taking in his surroundings to piece together the whole picture. One of his feet was free, the other was bent at an awkward angle, leg tugged close to his chest by the thread, that was going up his shoulder and wrapped around neck.
This could mean only one thing.
He was stuck in Batman’s trap, but somehow it literally managed to tangle him up. Like a net would tangle up a forest bird. Nothing seemed to be broken, even if his wrist felt odd, like it wasn’t moving quite right. But the Bat — the Bully — he was — yes, yes, where was he?
Jon narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the remaining cloud of dust, before he noticed the man in question almost right next to him. A familiar bat-shaped heap of dark fabric and impressive muscle mass. The heap that wasn’t moving, or stirring, perhaps still knocked out.
Guided by fear and nearly illogical curiosity, Jon tried to lean closer to the Bat to get a better look, before the merciless sting reminded him why he shouldn’t move too much. The rope cut deeper into his throat the second he shifted his corpus forward.
With another quick glance into Batman’s direction, Crane returned to his previous task, hoping that the vigilante would stay unconscious long enough for him to free himself. He probed around the fabric of his burlap and the place of the wound, but wasn’t able to find where the darn thread had started.
Jonathan was careful, even if twitchy. His limbs refused to do what he wanted them to; heavy and strained, they could have been wooden. The bruises were already forming all over his body, but what he needed, no, what he had to do was to use this time smartly. The Bat could wake up any second now. He has to hurry. He has to hurry up. He has to —
As if reading his thoughts, Batman shifted. Coughed.
Slowly righting his posture to throw Crane a blank look.
The Scarecrow stilled, spooked out of his wits. The tips of his gloves were scratching at the cable, like it would magically disable itself by a mere amount of the despair that he felt. He could barely control his first, foremost instinct to back off and put more distance between them, even if it would hurt him.
“Crane…” Batman shook his head, clearing up his vision. “What is —”
“It’s you.” he sizzled, voice shaky and low. “You — you did this to me! You had, ah — it’s all y-your fault!”
The Bat regarded him for a moment or two, looking positively unimpressed. Certainly not intimidated by Jon’s hysterical yarn. Which in return would have irked him way more, if he wasn’t nearly choking himself on that dumb threat in his feeble attempts to get it off.
“Stay still.”
If there was any report to that, Jon didn’t find it. Preferring to cringe back from Batman’s hands like they were about to inflict more harm, than do any good. But yet again, unbothered by his demeanor the Bat reeled him closer, just enough for a flicker of light from above to fall on the Scarecrow’s tattered front.
He could feel those eyes skipping down his neck, silently addressing the injury. His fingers came next, resting just between the damaged skin and the bloody brown fabric of Crane’s collar.
“What are you d —”
“Quite.”
Jonathan’s mouth closed by its own accord. His hands were raised, awkwardly pressed to his chest. He had no idea what to do with them now, when the Bat was in his personal space. He didn’t want to be touched or helped. Something inside his brain hissed and bristled, praying that Batman would just drag him back to his car like that. Tangled and bloody.
“I need you to angle your head.” Batman said it like a command, or maybe, it mostly registered with Jon as such.
Either way, Crane made no move to follow it. He did nothing, but clenched his teeth, staring at the Bat with a mix of distrust and unease. Openly uncooperative.
“There is no other way to unwrap it.”
“Y-you can cut it.” Jon blurted out, for some reason feeling dumb, after saying it. But then again, didn’t Batman have all kinds of tools in that wonder-belt of his? Couldn’t he just nick it off with some sort of pocket knife?
“It’s too close to your neck.” Batman’s finger slightly jammed near the wound, making the Scarecrow flinch. “Too risky and you —” he looked him up and down, shaking his head in dismissal. “You will move around.”
“I’m wounded, not stupid!” Crane protested.
“True, but you panic easily, when you’re wounded.” the vigilante reported, leaning closer, which in return made Crane’s frame slightly shrink on itself by instinct. “And you attacked me before, when I tried to help you in the past. You’re like the Joker. You just can’t help yourself.”
Now, this was simply insulting.
“What!? I’m nothing like that clown!” Jonathan snapped, jerking as soon as one of the Bat’s hands settled on his shoulder, preventing him from fidgeting and moving away any further. “If you think that we are alike, you're the one who needs help, Batman!”
It wasn’t up for debate, but the other man seemed to feel differently.
“You don’t care about the consequences, when you’re cornered. You become controlled by your basic impulses instead of logic.” the Bat had enough audacity to lightly smirk, as if this was something to be amused about. “You have no idea how often you do this, don’t you, Crane?”
Jonathan wanted to deny it, but the thread dug into the tended, cut-open spot on his neck and he let out a small gruff. Shoulders wrenching lower, while Batman carefully unwrapped the cable from his bent knee, lessening the pressure against his throat in process.
The annoying, systaltic pain went nowhere, but Jon’s focus for some reason kept jumping to places, where Batman’s hands brushed across his body. It made him tingly, which wasn’t unusual by any means. He always felt restless, when the Bat touched him, no matter how insignificantly, but this was weird. Shouldn’t he be more concerned about slowly, but steadily losing blood, than about the feel of the wide gloved palm against his…everything?
Batman’s manipulations suddenly halted, the visible parts of his face paled, like he just saw something unsightly. The man shook his head again, this time slower, and it only now lightened up on Jon, that he did spray the other with fear toxin earlier. So the big bad Bat must have been seeing something, that wasn’t quite here.
What could it be, he wondered. What could make this large, strong bully confused enough to go rigid in momental fear? What could scare someone, who bred terror into every criminal in Gotham?
“What is it?” Jonathan gurgled out an off-note giggle. Then more and some more, until the noise hasn't twisted into low laughter. “Don’t feel well, Bully? Kheeehhe, see something terrifying? What is that you — eeck!”
The Scarecrow bit the insides of his cheek, when Batman without any warning, roughly tugged on his burlap, yanking it off his head with enough force to disturb the injury. Jon’s hand automatically hurried to cover it, fingers probing against the thread and wet, coppered flesh, like a mere touch could make it all better again.
“What was that f-for?” just like that there was no more the sinister Scarecrow in sight, only panting, spooked Jonathan Crane. Maskless and dumbstruck. “Why had you —”
“It distracted me.” the other man explained, carelessly throwing Jon’s beloved mask to the side. “Now, stay still. I mean it, Crane.”
“You can’t just — you can’t…!” he wasn’t sure what he was trying to articulate. He was angry. He hated feeling this exposed, as if he wasn’t humiliated enough already! “Don’t you —”
Strong fingers clasped under his chin, making his mouth form a shocked ‘o’. The Bat fixed him with a dark, cool look. Usually, when he wanted to shut Jonathan up, he would hit him or more recently, just slap him on the face. But this was a new way, most likely picked to not hurt him even more, than needed.
Or maybe, the smug Bully simply took pleasure in finding new ways to intimidate him. It wasn’t all that hard. Griggs always told Jon, that he was the one who made it all too easy to mess with him.
“Sit. Still.” it sounded awfully a lot like a warning. Probably the last one. “Do you understand me?”
This time the forced eye-contact made Crane twitch. He audibly swallowed, wanting to nod, but Batman’s hold didn’t let him move his head at all. He settled on simply breathing out a little, “...y-y-yes. I – I get it.”
Satisfied, the Bat immediately let go of Jon’s jaw, returning to the abandoned task. As the man’s hands moved along his neck and shoulder, the Scarecrow simply gazed at the vigilante through dirty, red-locks, unsure what to do with himself. He felt a bit stunted.
Perhaps, the blood loss started getting to him faster, than he anticipated.
“It’s not too deep.” Batman pried Jonathan’s collar down, eye-slits narrowing at damage. Presence of his fingers was impossible to shake off as it was sliding across sweaty, wet skin. The touch was medical and clinical, but it did some ungodly things to Jonathan’s head. “You’re lucky, that it had cut only through the first layers of skin. Nothing critical was damaged.”
Jon didn’t feel a need to reply.
And he didn’t feel lucky, either. If anything, he felt naked without his mask, stupid for not being able to free himself without the Bat’s assistance. He also felt uncomfortable inside his pants. There was a tug in between his guts, a sharp clutch of his insides every time Batman’s wide palm pressed against the long stretch of his throat.
At first, Crane thought that it was because this whole procedure was painful, but then he recognized another flavor to the sensation. The one that he usually tried his hardest to shove into the further corner of his brain.
But it proved to be impossible to dissociate from it, when he was constantly exposed to the sensation. Fingertips cool and leathery against his vein, the forceful tilt of his head, when he turned it wrong and got into the Bat’s way. Distraught and shivering for another reason than fear, Jon made a low, grunting noise. Shifting his weight, as if confused, whatever he should lean closer, away or be still.
“Almost done.” Batman said, without lifting his eyes. Crane was glad for it. This way the other man won’t see his face coloring into an embarrassing, ugly shade of red. “Try not to make any sudden movements.”
It wasn’t like Jon needed to be told this again, even if he was in fact itching to move now. Being trapped under the Bat’s hands made him more anxious, than a thread wrapped around his windpipe. Non-violent touches often disorientated him. Especially coming from someone, who usually had no problem with hurting him.
And wasn't that just about right? The Bat did hurt him in the past, so why…
Jon’s hands curled into fists, arms lubberly crossed over his stomach. Aimless gaze wandered from the Bat’s chiseled jaw and straight nose to the dark-blue blinks of his kevlar armor. His mind was swirling. Growing more and more stung-up by a second.
“What takes you so long?”
“It’s dark.”
The remark pissed him off, more than it should. It was ridiculous. The Bat always - absolutely always - was ready for anything, prepared to disarm the traps, to save lives, to see through Crane’s schemes, but now he was just sitting with him in this literal hole, no nifty tools to help out. Not even a flashlight.
“Don’t you have something t-to make it easier?” he asked, pitch all wrong. Too breathy.
And as if to be cruel, Batman paused again. Jonathan’s Adam apple jerked, feeling the circle of strong fingers right under his jaw, the other set was now resting between the last coil of wire, ghosting over the bleeding wound.
He swallowed, face getting hotter at the annoying growing throbbing between his legs. His clothes were long and baggy enough to cover any signs of a tent, but it didn’t make this any less mortifying.
“It would help, if you stop squirming.” Batman said, seriously.
“But y-you are - ah, you're not rough.”
He regretted muttering it as soon as it left his mouth. He didn't mean to say it out loud. But it was too late to pretend like he said nothing. The Bat heard him. And it seemed to take him aback, which didn’t happen often. Not two times in one day for sure. But the Scarecrow did pride himself as someone, who could surprise the feared vigilante. However, it was the only time, when he wished that he didn’t.
“What.”
Crane’s face scrunched up. He refused to meet the Bat’s eyes. “Nothin’....”
The good thing about Batman was that he didn’t tend to pry, when it had nothing to do with whatever case he was on. And to think about it, Jonathan still had no idea how he found him. He wasn’t all that active in the past weeks. He doesn’t think, that he left any trails either.
Or maybe, he had. Maybe, he was getting sloppy after all. There were times, when he didn’t even notice it, until it was too late and Batman was already on the doorstep of his new hideout, sometimes accompanied by Boy Wonder.
“How did you find me?” he forced out, mostly to keep his brain busy and not hyperfocus on how carefully the Bat was handling him. “I haven’t done anythin’ in days.”
There was a thoughtful pause. Like the dark knight really pondered his answer.
“You tend to pick hide-outs close to the Narrows. Considering the amount of abandoned buildings in that area, it was either this or the warehouse next to the river.” the Bat explained, a ghost of a smile twisted his lips. “I’ve decided to check this one first. And I wasn’t mistaken.”
It sounded a lot like a jab. And Jon wasn’t a big fan of those.
“I could have been at the other end of the city.” he snipped back.
“But you weren't.”
Crane grimaced, eyes skimming down to his long legs, noticing how the Bat hadn't actually undone the coil around his ankle. Most likely not trusting him not to run, once he’d be free.
“Isn’t the Joker out there? Shouldn’t you be looking for him?”
“I caught him yesterday.”
“Oh.”
This was fast. He was out for what, a week?
“He said ‘hi’.”
Jonathan scoffed. It did sound like Jack. They didn’t have the best of relationships, especially as of late. But for the clown to suspect that the Bat will find him so soon was a low-blow on itself.
“I hope, that he hasn't come down willingly.”
Batman looked at him strangely, before slowly rising to his feet. “He didn’t.”
This was what he expected. The Joker tended to get worse beating, than any of them. And as much as he loved to claim to be the Bat’s number uno nemesis, the Scarecrow couldn’t always keep his own tongue behind his teeth, and not remind the clown, that he knew the Bat first.
(At least, according to his own memory.)
It didn’t matter if it came off as childish, since this was the key-difference between Crane and the Joker. He did know the vigilante to a degree. He had seen him shaking in fear. Kneeling. Felt him gripping his arms with the most apparent kind of tremor. None of the other Rogues had ever got a chance to learn the way the Bat’s voice shook, almost betraying the softer baritone of the person behind the mask.
“Get up.”
He twitched, returning back to reality, where he was still bleeding and the cord was wrapped around his ankle. The other end was within Batman’s hand, like the end of a leash.
Slowly, Jon obeyed the order, staggering back to his feet, one hand pressed to the cut on his neck, while he tried to catch his balance. He had nearly teetered to the side, but a secure hold on his elbow tugged him upward, not letting him to fall back on his ass.
The Bat took a critical look at Jon’s coppered front, frowning, jaw set hard. “You have lost a plenty of blood.”
“I’ve noticed.” Jonathan mutely reported, slightly swaying. He thought, that he sustained no other injuries, but his left leg felt off. Like there was a cramp stuck between the muscle, a too-painful stretch that was noticeable once he was vertical again. “I feel…dii–iiizzy.”
“I have a first aid kit inside the car.” the Bat said, taking a moment to rub his face. Seemingly still affected by the fear toxin. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his face. “You will have to hang-on.”
Jonathan wasn’t precisely sure, if this was addressed to him or if Batman talked to himself, but either way, this was his chance. Take a deep breath, try to shift the weight just right…
The floor creaked, the Bat raised his head just in time to get kicked into the chest. It took a lot of Jon to bite back a pained groan, as his body protested, but he has to get out of here! Allowing the Bat to drag him back wasn’t an option.
It was nice to see Batman take a few steps back. Clearly not expecting Crane to be this resilient. But his triumph was short-lived. The Bat suddenly yanked on the end of the rope with enough strength to disbalance Jon. He yelped, falling on his back.
The fresh wave of pain raked his frame, his neck felt like it was on fire, forcing him to awkwardly half-curl on himself, hissing and meowing as more blood soaked through his collar. “D-damn you, y-you’ve made it worse! I’m bleeding all over my straw!”
The vigilante ignored him, simply pulling him closer by the thread. Flipping the usual script back to normal. Bringing Jon back to desperate clambering, as he was unable to fight the bigger man off.
“Did you have enough?” Batman asked, already knowing the answer to that. It was hard not to, when Crane started kicking and swirling around, like a man possessed. “Or we will have to do it the hard way?”
The Scarecrow spluttered something barely intelligent, one hand gripping the thread, while another probed around the thick coil, that snaked around his boot. There should be a way out, there should be!
“Crane, stop it. This is useless.” and then, as if afterthought, “You’re going back.”
Whatever expression he had shown, certainly didn’t give the Bat much to work with. Good riddance, because he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. All that he needed was another opening, to be close enough to strike again.
“You know, Batman…” he began, suddenly ceasing his attempts to flee. “I think, that you’re…right.”
It didn’t stop the Bat as he was less trusting of whatever Crane said now. But it wasn’t what he was after. What Jon needed was a perfect angle. A bit more time too, if he’d be that lucky.
“I don’t feel well. I-I feel like I’m about to drop.” he kept his voice low, slightly trembling. “It’s like liquid. Pouring.”
Finally, the man looked at him. He was towering over Jonathan. Hands steady, despite all the troubles, that the fear toxin must have caused him. “What are you —”
Crane used his free leg to make an undercut, knocking the ground from under the Bat’s boots. The man fell over, and Jon pounced on top of him. The adrenaline drummed inside his ears, as his hands were scrambling across the ground, trying to find some kind of makeshift weapon.
“Crane.” it was a growl, and there was a hand around Jon’s thin wrist, gripping hard enough to make him choke out a horrified whine. “You only prolonging it.”
“Shut up!”
Jonathan finally managed to get a hold of something heavy. He swung it without thinking twice. Batman made a short, gruff noise, head violently snapping to the side from the power of the blow to his temple. He didn’t move again.
“How about that, hah?”
The Scarecrow let out a creepy cackle, fingers gripping the rock. He took a couple of inhales, before settling down, assisting the situation with a jerky, unsure smile. The Bat’s mouth was slack, his muscles were lax and it didn’t seem like he was conscious. But just to be sure Jon poked his cheek with one long finger.
Nothing. Not even a groan.
“Bat-bully?” he pressed on his cheek harder, letting his digit slyly glide closer to the man’s lips. Was the Bat playing possum? No, it didn’t seem like he was. “Can you hear me?”
Still no response.
“Heheehoo…” the laugh nearly made him cough again. He hoped that it was because of the dust, and not a broken rib. “I guess not.”
Crane allowed himself to lean back, fighting off the drowsiness, once it was apparent that he was no longer in danger of being apprehended. Batman was breathing, so he didn’t overdid it. Just knocked him out. It never tended to last for long. It was in his interest to get up and leave, while he still could.
Yet, he was frozen in place, blood slowly dripping, while his half-formed erection wasn’t willing to die down, despite the bloodlose. He thought about something like this before. Imagined having the Bat at his mercy in more ways than one, but even in those daydreams, he could never fully figure out what exactly he earned to do.
He wanted to dissect Batman’s brain. Know what made him afraid. What made him tick. Wanted to understand his motivation. Wanted to get under his skin, and be there to stay. He wanted to be the one, who made him the most unsettled, he wanted, hoped, pinned for —
Jonathan looked at his own twitching thighs, at his useless, anxious hands, that were placed on the Bat’s chest. Pawing at the man, like a needy cat and at that instance the disgust flooded him. It wasn’t – this couldn’t have been — oh no, oh no, no, no!
The Bat of his nightmares wasn’t supposed to be anything more, than an obstacle. A competition. A horrifying, twisted dream. Not the literal object of deep-rooted desire. Not something to be bothered to even truly be longing for!
Crane cringed backwards like he was burnt. Pressing his arms to his chest, mind rilling, blood pumping. Shakily, he raised to his feet, watching Batman with a pale, striked expression. Feeling out of place, spacing out from unwelcomed notion, that this slimy, contorting sensation inside his stomach and chest was directly tied up to something deeper and more depraved, than he first assumed.
With nothing else to do, he fled the scene, not daring to look back even once.
He wasn’t a stranger to arousal. But this – whatever it was – horrified him to his very core.
;
.
The escape went less easy, than planned. Taking more effort on his part, than usual. Being unfocused as he was, some things took him longer. It couldn't be helped in his state.
But it all was dealt with.
Once he was out of the darn gutter, Jonathan wrapped up his neck with a piece of his own tunic, tearing a little ribbon to slow down the bloodstream. His movements were jerky, neurotic. He felt woozy and shaken up, but at least he was away from the Bat and each stride put more and more distance between them.
He had no doubt, that the dark knight would soon be up and about again. And Jon also had no doubt, that he would go and seek him out again. But before it happened, he needed a plan for their next confrontation. He can’t let it get out of control again.
In the past, there was a fair share of misconductions and mistakes. But this was different. He has to treat it seriously. Otherwise —
Crane stumbled, angrily slapping his own cheeks to stay awake and alert. Just a few more blocks, and he will be close to his old hideout. It wasn’t ideal, but he needed a quick stop to collect at least some of his supplies, and to rest. Even if just for an hour. After that, he will think about what to do about the Bat. Because something had to be done, before it was too late.
All that he needed was to wait it out, calm down, and then get straight to figuring out how to solve this newest problem of his. It shouldn't be too hard. The Scarecrow wasn't that easy to beat.