crowley-in-arkham

[crowley-in-arkham]

Albus City: the Gotham Antithesis, or so Rook says.

I'd say he's right, even amidst the winter season Albus seems warm—despite the military occupation.

When Rook asked me to keep my passport ready, I was somewhat taken aback by the sheer amount of precautionary measured implemented. I can somewhat understand why Crane never made it out this way.

"Arkham?" One of the guards eyes my ID critically, "We haven't had a doctor from there come into Albus for a while."

"Someone from Arkham?" I asked, furrowing a brow. (If it's Crane I'll lose my mind.)

"Uh, yeah, Arkham—I think. I assume the founder? Or related? Lanky guy, bad haircut—round glasses. Looks like he just walked out of the 50s."

"That'd be Jeremiah Arkham." Rook snickered, "He's the founder's son."

"I'm not here for work," I piped up, "Just to get a license."

Rook chuckled, "Kust here for the beauty of the Sunbleached City!"

The guard raised a brow, looking at Rook with a sting of familiarity. "You Fujimoto's boy?"

Rook seemed to straighten up in his seat, "Yeah, uh, Inko's my mom."

"Hope you're doing her proud up in Gotham," the guard squint his eyes, "Not gettin into fights still, I hope?"

Rook stared at the guard for a moment then it clicked to him: "Oh! I didn't even recognize you Bryn!"

The guard let out a hardy laugh and ruffled the Avian's hair, "Just glad you did eventually. What a fine coincidence, bein' on duty the day you decided to come home."

"It's good to see you! Suppose its better you than someone else have to hear me explain why the Doc and I are here."

"Well, lay it on me an' I'll lend you an ear," the guard flashed me a fanged grin and a wink.

"I'm not sure what I can and cannot disclose—" I started, before Rook interjected.

"The doctor's just treading carefully. She has kind of latent anomaly. While I'm here I'm gonna have Dr. White take a look at her, maybe he'll spy something Gotham can't."

The guard narrowed his golden eyes, "I know I needn’t tell you, Rook, but, your friend here should get the history lesson before she goes pokin' around the Heart."

"Heart?" I echoed to myself.

The wolf-like guard pointed a clawed hand up towards a large skyscraper crowned in glass domes: beside it, like a false sun, a glowing white ball of some ethereal nature.

"That's the Heart," The guard explained, standing back up, from Rook's window. "Give her all the Albus City warnings once you get home, especially if she'll be prodding at White and the other researchers. Last thing we need right now is more stress on the labrats: Creed's got that covered."

"Will do, sir."

Frankly, I was left with far more questions than answers. Rook drove carefully through the city, explaining district after district and gang relationship to gang relationship.

I was surprised with the nature of Albus, the city was treated as if it were an independent state from the rest of the US because of it's anomalous nature.

I sighed, interjecting on Rook explaining why the Hawkwood Majors and the Springtown Wreckers contest over territory despite Haven being Vig territory. Whatever those words mean.

"What exactly does Dr. White do?"

Rook chuckled, "Basically what Strange does, but instead of tampering with your DNA he only tries to stabilize anything dangerous."

"Stabilize anything dangerous?" I said skeptically, "Like, cure cancer?"

"No, he only works with anomalies—like you, me, Ivy. Some anomalies can be incredibly dangerous and unstable—like the Majors I was talking about earlier."

I chuckled, "You lost me when you were on the Majors."

Rook snickered, "No worries, its a lot. Majors get their name from their shared anomaly. It's just called Majoris: it just makes them big. It's one of the most common anomalies: yet one of the most unstable."

"Unstable how?"

"They can randomly lash out, sent into a blind rage by some unknown stimulant— like— Epilepsy. Something in their brain gets triggered. Instead of seizing though— it's like their adrenal system goes into hyperdrive and they go full elephant rut. Terrible stuff."

"So Dr. White helps them? Fixes them?"

"He's more like a—" Rook motions his hand looking for the word, before clicking and exclaiming: "Like a psychiatrist for metahumans!"

"I see," I mulled quietly, before adding an optimistic, "I can't wait to meet him then."

Rook shook his head excitedly, "Honestly, you'll get to meet pretty much everyone."

I tilted my head, "Everyone?"

Rook shrugged, "Maybe not the Vigilants, but my mom and people she works with, definitely!"

I furrowed my brows and smiled, "Well, I'm sure your mother is lovely— but, um—" I chuckled awkwardly, "Who— who are the Vigilants?" Rook had pulled into a space in front of a building complex. It was a quaint little dojo wedged between a natural remedy shop and an attorney's office.

Rook chuckled and looked at me with a raised brow, "Seriously?"

I apologized, "Sorry, sorry, I've never heard of them."

Rook chuckled, "They're like Albus' personal Justice League: it's best not to think about it much deeper than that though."

"Why not?"

"Albus isn't a perfect city," Rook shrugged, "it's just inverse Gotham. Instead of seeing it go down on the streets, it all goes down in boardrooms and laboratories."

Rook hopped out of the Jeep and plucked my bag from the back seat. When we entered, he'd held the dojo door open for me.

It was a decorated dojo, with soft brown and tan tatami mats and tasteful ink murals on the walls.

"Welcome to the Yamakarasu Dojo," Rook chuckled, "the stairs are over here."

A woman around my height poked her head out from a storage room.

"Is that—" the woman asked through a squinted gaze, flicking down a pair of brown glasses. She gasped, busting out from behind the counter leaving a crash of books and papers in her wake: "My little mountain crow!" The winged woman basically tackled Room out the door.

"Hey ma—" The woman seemed to only register my presence after tacking her son out of the door, "This is my co-worker, Mina."

The woman laughed and took my hand in hers, apologizing, "Sorry, sorry, Sousuke never calls so I had no idea you two were coming!"

I narrowed my eyes at Rook who chuckled awkwardly.

"Come on upstairs and I'll get the guest room set up for you," She motioned, "A bit close to the holidays to be making your way to Albus, don't you think?"

Rook chuckled, "Two birds with one stone."

I looked at him and so did his mother.

Rook laughed, "Well, I thought it was funny."

His mother rolled her eyes and lead me up to the main apartment: a tiny nook with pleasant green walls and a myriad of plants throughout.

"Ivy would like it here," I chuckled, nudging Rook on the shoulder.

The avian snickered and carried my bags, following behind his mother.

"What did you come home for anyway, Sou?" Rook's mother asked, while I eyed the photos on the wall.

"I need to have Marcus take a look at Crowley," Rook admitted, "She's a bit of a unique case."

Rook's mother raised a brow, "She looks fine to me."

Rook chuckled, "Well, she wasn't really—" he took a moment to find the word, "One of us before."

Inko chuckled from the guest room, "The hell does that mean, Sousuke?"

Rook sighed, "She didn't have wings ma."

Into stopped and laughed wryly, "What?"

"She was 110% normal human until recently."

"You mean to say she just—" Inko flicked her fingers out to mimic a poof.

"Yeah, except kind of literally."

Rooks mother sat on the bed and looked at me, "So, tell me what happened."

I turned and pondered for a moment on what I could and couldn't say.

"Trust me, I won't tell a soul no matter how questionably ethical it might be."

I hesitated, and Inko sighed, "Alright. Take your shirt off."

"Excuse me?"

"Mina, just trust me."

"Does Rook have to be here?"

"Would you rather it be me or Dr. White?" Inko said flatly.

I stopped and sighed, "Fair enough."

I struggled to pull newly grown wings from my shirt's haphazardly cut back, before sitting down on the bed next to Rook's mother.

She stood up and began eyeing my arms and neck critically.

She stopped when she spotted a small scar on my abdomen.

"Have you had any repetitive injections in the last few months?"

Rook looked concerned.

"I can't say for certain, but I do have reason to believe I have, yeah."

Inko stared at me with wild concern, "You have reason to believe? The hell happened to you?"

Inko shook her head, "Sousuke, I'm going to come to the lab with you when you see White. If anyone else has received the treatment Mina here has: I would like to know immediately."

I pondered, "The only one I know for certain is Jon."

Rook piped up, "Could you elaborate? We're kind of in the dark about this."

Inko sighed, "I can explain when we get to the lab. I want to run some tests to determine whether or not this is what I think it is."

"What you think it is?" Rook barked, "Mom, would you just tell us?"

"When the Heart first opened there were a ton of projects opened up to understand anomalies in Albus and why they occurred so much differently and far more frequently in Albus than anywhere else in the world," Inko explained while she pulled a coat on.

"A few projects regarded a substance that was discovered after the Heart opened: we call it Rylumine, and it's something all anomalies in Albus share. These projects aimed to create consistent and artificial anomalies by injecting foreign fetus' and babies with the substance: the only—" She made quotations with her fingers, "'Successful' project being Operation Lazarus."

"Marcus and I will explain more when we get to the lab," the woman assured, "but I have reason to suspect that you and this 'Jon' fella have been subject to Rylumine injections."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Anomalies are a dice roll. Some people become angels, some people end up like Claude Gideon."

"Claude Gideon?"

"Albus City Bruce Wayne:" Rook interjected, "if Bruce Wayne went nuts and murdered his girlfriend."

"What?"

Inko motioned her hand, "Sorry for giving you zero downtime, hun, but you might have been caught in the midst of Albus' dirty laundry."

I've never been more confused in my life.

[crowley-in-arkham]

One goat, two goats: Let one run. Let one bleed, 'til sins are none.

[crowley-in-arkham]

Rook is right. I'll admit that outright.

I agreed to coffee, as opposed to lunch: and Rook seemed excited.

He offered to drive all the way to Albus City just for coffee, which- Is somewhat inane to me. He said that there's a fantastic little cafe down there dedicated to birds and that he'd tell me all about the city on the way.

He suggested it'd be good for me to get out of Gotham for a while and give me a chance to learn how to live with my new-- arrangement. I'm hesitant to try to rid myself of these, uh, wings, perse.

I sleep on my stomach or side usually, so sleeping hasn't been a bother: but my wardrobe and driving have been impacted incredibly.

I'm relearning to balance, the wings force my posture upright, and my abs constantly hurt from trying not to fall backward.

Jon noticed, well, everyone noticed. Gotham isn't a popular place for metahumans to live for-- obvious reasons. I still need to learn what Stranges' concoction awoke within me.

"Livin' up to Crow, are we?" Crane asked with a chuckle, folding his arms and scanning my wings with a flick of his eyes.

"Unintentionally," I sighed, "Side effect of the formula, I presume."

Jon rubbed his chin and pondered, "Hm, physical mutation? Interesting. I suppose Luthor is onto something in terms of that mystery substance after all."

I tilted my head, "The what?"

Rook must've overheard, as he approached with a wave, "Mornin' Crane."

"Rook," Jon greeted with a nod, "You're becomin' a bit more interactive as a' late."

"Been more necessary than usual."

"Mn," Jon looked back at me, "I heard Tetch freaked out when he saw ya."

I sighed, "A shame, really. I wonder what has him bothered."

Rook looked at Jon, "I'm bringing Crowley down to Albus for a few days."

"Tell Arkham," Jon raised a brow, "Why?"

"Albus has designated flight schools for metahumans," Rook said flatly, "With her change, she'll need the training."

Jon snickered, "Why don't you do it?"

I tilted my head and looked at Rook. Whose mouth formed a hard line, and his brows furrowed hard.

"Boy, I've read your file top to bottom; it should come naturally for ya, shouldn't it? Or is this human get-up more yer speed?"

I snapped, "Seriously, Jon? Again?"

Rook took a breath and chuckled, softening his expression, "I'm Avian; you're absolutely right. I just play normie to keep people comfortable."

Jon looked at him with a small amount of surprise, "I didn' think you'd admit that aloud."

Rook shrugged, "Gotham isn't known for its metahuman hospitality; being from Albus alone was enough to make job hunting just about impossible."

Jon looked at him with a piqued curiosity: "Where in Albus ya from anyway?"

"Coalsgrove."

"Grow up there?"

"Right up until the blaze."

"Must've been rough," Jon narrowed his eyes and relaxed into his stance, "'Fraid of fire?"

"Not too scared of much, Crane."

Jon chuckled, "Sure, sure. Well, the two of you have fun down in Albus city."

Jon brushed the hair from my face, "And Mina, don't fly too close to the sun, woul'dya? I'd rather not see you in a coffin. Hand me your apartment keys."

I tilted my head, only for Jon to add, "To feed yer cat."

"Oh!" I pulled my keys from my pocket and plucked my house key from the ring, "Thank you, Jon."

"Jus returnin' a favor."

"I'll have her home in one piece, old man."

"You'd better, feathers. I make a habit a' scaring birds, after all."

"Jon," I asked meekly, "What do you know about Albus?"

"Never been."

"Oh, I see," I smiled, "If I go again, I'll bring you."

Jon smiled and chuckled, "Sure, why not?"

Jon walked by Rook and I with a small smile on his wrinkled features.

Rook sighed and motioned for me to come with him, "The drive ain't too bad, let's talk to Arkham and get you set and ready to go."

I smiled and nodded, walking beside Rook to Arkham's office. Arkham feels small walking next to both Rook and Jon, they remind me how short I am by just being nearby.

I closed my wings tight to me, trying to take up as little space as possible, when Rook rested a palm on my shoulder, "I might have to ask you some weirdly personal questions about the change, just to let you know."

I nodded, "Yeah, that's not a problem."

When we neared Arkham's office, Rook knocked, stepped in, had a short interaction with Jeremiah, and stepped out to me again.

"You're all set to go. He's gonna have Jon cover your duties in the meantime."

"Thanks, Rook."

"If you ever feel uncomfortable, just let me know," Rook smiled, "I don't want to freak you out."

"I appreciate the gesture."

"Yeah," he beamed, "Of course!"

When we walked down the stairs Rook somewhat chuckled, "I'll teach you how to tuck and wrap your wings too, it can be prudent to keep them out of sight in Gotham."

I sighed, "Is it really that bad here?"

"Just rather you didn't get grounded."

"Grounded?"

"You know," he made a pair of scissors with his fingers.

I shivered at the thought.

"Even Albus has it's issues on the matter, but most metas live pretty normal lives there," Rook shrugged, "It is the metahuman hub of America, after all."

"It makes Gotham sound like hell."

"Albus is like, Metahuman Utopia—since the Surge, anyway. The reputation tends to keep a lot of the bigots out. I'm sure you'll love Haven, I'll bring you by the hero museum since it's only a few blocks from the Aviary."

"I guess lunch turned into vacation."

Rook laughed, pushing back a messy mass of black bangs, "I guess so! There's just a lot to see in Albus City."

As we neared the entrance, Bolton stopped us.

"Rook? Where are you–" Bolton stopped to stare at me, "Another fucking basketcase metahuman? As if Gotham didn't have enough of those wackjobs."

I snapped, "You know what Bolton? Maybe if you weren't such a power-hungry bigoted asshole you'd actually get laid."

I folded my arms, "Rook, we don't owe shithead here an explanation."

Rook looked at me with surprise, "I- uh–" he turned to Bolton, "We already got approved by Dr. Arkham, we're going to Albus to get Crowley a flight license."

Bolton narrowed his eyes and scowled at me, "Fine, but this is going on your history as a strike this month, Rook. Don't let it happen again."

With that Bolton turned on his heel and strode off. Rook let out a sigh and murmured under his breath: "I fuckin' hate that guy."

Rook's car is a hardy one, a tall matte black jeep with tinted windows and an aggressive looking grill guard.

I raised a brow and looked at him.

"I promise I'm not compensating," Rook chuckled, "I use this for work too."

When we piled into his jeep he looked at me, "So, where you live at?"

"For once, someone doesn't just know where I live?" I asked with a snicker.

Rook raised a brow.

"Nevermind, just head towards otisburg and I'll direct you once we get close."

Rook gave a two fingered salute and started his car, "Yes ma'am!"

[crowley-in-arkham]

It's been a long time since I saw Jon teach anything. I was surprised both Ed and Harvey weren't very familiar with Spades, of all things. I expected Edward to know, in the very least, for practicality: and I assumed it fit Harv's– persona. I'm surprised Oswald hadn't taught either of them the game before Jon and I.

Jon allowed for table talk throughout the game to help the other two familiarize themselves with the rules, throwing the game for Edward's sake—much to Harvey's dismay.

Harvey wanted to play seriously, but Jon left as soon as he had the chance.

Edward raised a brow at me as soon as Jon left the room.

"Still trying to climb that tree?"

"If I wanted to have sex with him," I said flatly, "I would have done that already."

"I trust you to deal," he mocked.

Harvey raised a brow, "Are we missing something?" Before responding to himself with a clear, "Yes, clearly. Read the room."

Edward chuckled, "Well, Mina, why don't you explain?"

"Explain what?"

"Oh," He said with a mock twang of a southern mother, "Why, that tall handsome fella, with tha glasses n' tha big nose!"

I sighed, "Aside from being a lying asshole, Jon is someone I—"

Ed chuckled.

"Want to remedy my friendship with."

Edward groaned, "Christ, Crowley. Stop beating around the damn bush: You've got a just-shy-of-freudian attraction to Jonathan."

Harv chuckled a gravelly snicker, "Why not just go for it?" His tone softened with a, "Why dance around it like this in the first place?"

I sighed, "Jon keeps betraying my trust."

Ed laughed, "We're Rogues! It's what we do! Hell, ask Harley."

"Jon isn't Joker."

"And you aren't Harleen Quinnzel."

"But she's pretty damn close," said Harvey, peering a single eye at Edward, before flicking it back to me and asking: "Why dontcha talk to— I don't know, a therapist about it? Maybe a friend?"

"You want me to talk to you about Jon?"

"Didn't say that," he leaned back and cracked his neck, rolling his head to the wall and pointing a finger at a photo.

"Someone clinically sane, preferably."

I furrowed my brows, "I'm not going to Bruce about it!"

"Weren't you and his boy going to the same school at one point? Go see Dick then."

I hesitated, but was interjected with another question.

"You're just not going to do anything?" Edward spat, "You'll just wait for the storm to pass then?"

"I-"

"You have to do something."

I felt a violent thrashing of wings in the back of my mind.

"You can't just sit idly by and follow like he'll eventually come to you about it: this is Jonathan Crane!"

Harvey added: "You can't just keep doin' what you've always done and expect things to change, Mina."

The room felt tight as Edward and Harvey's statements slammed brutal truths into my anxious hesitation— when suddenly.

Rip and tear.

With a pained and terrified wail, great masses burst from my back to shroud me from my clients. Two massive black forms rippled and flew out from bursted skin on my back, like massive opaque amoeba. They threw black ink and blood onto the walls and decor, as well as Edward and Harvey, as new, rigid structures came to form from the gelatinous fluid.

I pulled them in around me like a shock blanket on a witness: hot dripping blood slid down my back from beneath my shoulder blades, seeping red halos around the black mystery fluid that burst from myself—and Tockman.

My mind swirled in the dark beneath these freshly hatched wings, trying to decide what to do, and what to say: thrown into a panicked paralysis desperately trying to self-pacify.

Harvey and Edward, stunned, I imagine, hadn't said a word. Rook and Squires burst into the room the moment I cried out, and too had sat paralyzed in the door.

Rook pulled himself together and made his way into the room, "Dr. Crowley? Hey, you with me?"

I imagine my frenzied gaze startled him when he leaned down to touch me hesitating and breathing a gentle: "It's alright Doc," he motioned to Squires and added a soft: "Grab me a blanket and a first aid kit, the Doc's just overwhelmed."

He smiled down at me, with a concerned look, "Should've taken it easier, Crowley." He let out a chuckle, "Breathe Mina, you should really see—" He stopped himself, "You know what? How about we go to lunch or something?"

I pulled the wings closer.

"You can tell me later," he smiled warmly and pat my head with a warm hand.

Squires towered in the door and handed the blanket to Rook, who, in turn put it around my shoulders.

"I'll get you patched up, then." Rook glanced over at Squires, "You should escort Mr. Nygma and Mr. Dent to the showers, I'll ask Gray to clean Crowley's office before I leave."

"Alright," Squires plucked his radio from his belt and turned on his heel, "Anyone available in the psychiatric wing? Need another for an inmate escort, Dent and Nygma..."

His voice trailed off as the door slowly closed behind him.

"I'm going to clean up these wounds of yours," Rook said in a calm way, "It might hurt, so just squeeze that blanket and breathe for me, okay?"

I gripped the soft plush blanket like my life depended on it.

Rook had motioned for Harvey and Edward to stay quiet: who, had been engaged in silent argument with one another, just beyond the shroud of the massive blockade now between us.

"I cannot hear it. I cannot see it."

I murmured quietly.

Rook raised a brow as he held gauze to my broken skin, listening in silence as I murmured.

A loud chattering sound hovered above me, my eyes squeezed shut and the blanket held in a death grip in my arms.

"Crowley, hey," Rook cooed, "Should I keep talking?"

I gripped the blanket and looked at him, his distraction tearing me away from the snare of the chittering sound.

I nodded quickly, looking at him.

He chuckled, "Alright, I'll tell a story then."

The door slowly creaked open and Squires had entered, I sheltered away from the sound of moving bodies, and heard Edward and Harvey's silent argument grow into muffled barking in the hall.

And Rook began:

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy living in grim condition: left abandoned by his father, and living alone with his mother.

They lived in a poor neighborhood near an old port in their city, one once used to haul coal back in the industrial era. Many people that lived there had worked shoveling coal, and all the town was covered in black coal dust, earning it the nickname: "The Soot Slum".

His mother held onto the home, desperately trying to pay off her debts and trying for a better job deeper in the city.

One day, however, the entire district had burst into flames, a tragedy simply called "The Inferno".

The boy was caught alone in the blaze, hiding in his house curled in anomalous black wings, just like these."

He ran his fingers over the rigid feathers, "He was saved by another man, a metahuman firefighter with the same black wings: who swept him from the flames and flew him to his mother's arms."

I smiled, "Now, where's that story from?"

Rook chuckled, "I'll have to tell you more about it over lunch sometime."

I asked quietly, "It's a true story, isn't it?"

Rook ruffled my hair, "As real as you and me. Let's get you to the medical ward."

Under his breath he added, "Preferably without bumping into Crane."

[crowley-in-arkham]

An update, for those curious:

I've since returned to work, and my job has been a different experience. Carrion hasn't been much an issue, likely due to the fact that the fear toxin output has ceased in building A.

When I came in, Rook and Squires greeted me warmly. I bumped onto Bolton again, who performed a search on me—mumbling how I'm "one of the crazies" now.

Since leaving my house, Jon and I have been��avoidant of one another.

Hierarchies have shifted since I've been back to Arkham. Jon has become a stern overseer. I believe the nature of our relationship has become somewhat of a tension between us. I believe his curt avoidance is a coping mechanism for the intimacy that, notably, he initiated: but, mine is, of a similar nature so, I suppose I shouldn't judge him.

I seldom see him, and when I do manage to speak to him, he's incredibly curt and hurries away. He's no longer my patient, as if he ever were.

When I returned, Harvey and Edward greeted me warmly.

Harvey's acid-splashed face and single peering eye stared at me, and a hard expression gave a typical short grunt in acknowledgement before softening to a "We mean: welcome back, Miss Mina."

Then, Edward, with arms folded and a what-did-I-tell you expression flatly said: "I'm impressed you didn't see therough his little charade–" he chuckled, "I guess caged birds seldom see beyond the bars."

"Harvey, Edward. Good to see you too."

Then, with Rook and Arthur giving wild chase, Jervis bolted through the corridor, exclaiming: "Cheshire, Cheshire, callooh callay! Hatter prayed you'd come to–" Until he saw me.

When he looked me in the eyes, his face drained of blood.

I was not unfamiliar with a cowering Jervis Tetch but, this time, he backed away from me. His eyes stared frantically through me.

Ed furrowed his brows and scrunched part of his nose, "Oh, what the hell is the issue?"

Jervis muttered without shifting his sightless gaze: "Chitter-chatter, in her ear. The big black beast is somewhere near. Chitter-chatter, the blackbird sings, flying close on familiar wings."

I raised a hand up slightly and spoke softly, "Jervis, it's okay I'm not–"

He screeched, making the five of us flinch. In a hurry to back away, he tripped over a small potted faux plant, and fell onto the floor.

If I even motioned towards him he'd cry out and scramble back: doing so until he could no longer scutter away.

"Get away! Get away!"

He threw a small wooden box from one of the bins at me, that slammed into my cheekbone hard.

"Fuck!" I brought my palm to my bruising cheek.

"Jesus christ!" Harvey barked, "Are you trying to kill her you little fucking weasel?"

Rook and Arthur grabbed Jervis by the arms as he thrashed.

"Hatter didn't mean to harm," he muttered, with some semblance of sympathy, before quietly hissing, and shooting daggers through me; "but the vile beast wears Cheshire's charm."

I furrowed my brows as the short man was dragged from my office, leaving Edward and Harvey in silence as my only two patients remaining.

"The fuck was that?" Harv hissed with a scrunched nose, staring at the now empty doorway.

"Crazy," Edward said flatly, "That's what that was." Ed rolled his neck to look at me: "Well, Dr. Crowley? Any professional input?"

I stared ahead to the slowly closing door, furrowing my brows. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose."

"Mhm. Whatever you say, Jon." Edward shrugged, turning on his heel and slumping into a chair.

"So, what now?" Harvey asked gruffly, a raised grey brow peering down from narrow amber eyes.

"Well, Dr. Crane will pop in every hour to check on me. The board is out so, Chess?"

In a low growly mumble Harvey said: "We'd rather play Clue."

"You?" Edward snickered, "Against two former forensic techs?"

"We were an attorney, dick." Harvey hissed, sitting down near the table.

"How very— uncharacteristically clever, Harvey." Edward rolled his wrist, "You're the reason most of us are in here, legal eagle."

"In one way or another."

"How about something calm," I chuckled, "There is no way in hell am I playing Monopoly against Edward Nygma."

"You'd end up in debt both in-game and out, Crowley."

The door of my office creaked open, and a heavy footed tree waltzed in: "How 'bout spades?"

"Southern man's a gambler?" Edward groaned, "Who would have thought."

I chuckled softly, "I could go for a game of spades."

Jon looked at me with a raised brow, as if to say: "You play?"

Harvey shrugged, "Why not. Ya got a deck of cards?"

"I have several," Jon looked at me with even more curiosity as I rounded my desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and plucked a series of identical decks from a small wooden box.

I chuckled and answered his silence, "I grew up with soldiers. Spades was their game. I, however, always had a preference for blackjack. We played poker now and again, but usually, it was spades."

Harvey snickered to himself, "Quaint." Only to hiss his own retort: "Get a fucking room."

I plopped one deck of cards on the coffee table in the middle of the room, "We'll play partners."

I sat down on the loveseat facing away from my desk, to the left of Harvey.

Jon had flipped a chair from our typical game table to sit across from me, only to be interjected with a, "Slow down, big guy. I'll partner with Crowley. You know, to make it fair."

Jon scowled silently and sat on my left, somewhat positioned away from me.

"So," Ed asked, "how does it work?"

"You ain't ever played spades?" Jon asked with a nearly baffled expression.

"No, Jonathan," Edward narrowed his eyes, "I'm lucky enough not to pay taxes on stupidity."

Jon raised a brow, "Ya know you don' have ta gamble ta play cards, right?"

"Better safe than sorry."

Jon snickered, "'Fraid you'll get a hickey?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Jon flashed an unusually sharp canine in a twisted, teasing smirk, "I's a lil interested."

I swallowed hard, and cleared my throat, "Here's the game: Ed and I are partners, Jon, Harv, you're partners. Jon already has a grip on the game, Harvey have you played?"

Harvey shook his head.

"Well, you've two greens, Jon." I handed him the cards.

Jonathan looked at me with a surprised expression, "Wha's this?"

"I'm trusting you to deal."

[crowley-in-arkham]

Wishes

The floor creaked as I stepped into the living room, my heart pounding in my throat as I stared at the red halo that burned around Crane's otherwise dark silhouette.

I hung my coat and took my boots off, the grocery bag rustling quietly as I did so. It's been a long time since I was so nervous over something as typical as leaving the house.

Before I even broke the threshold between hallway to main-room, Crane's voice purred in a terrifying calmness:

"Where were you?"

I swallowed hard, Crane hadn't moved from his position in front of the illuminated screen to look at me. He hadn't even paused the film.

"I walked to the store," I mumbled, the knot in my throat drawing tears from my eyes.

"You didn't tell me where you were going."

"You were sleeping-"

He spun to look back at me, nearly rising from his seat, and barked: "So? You're supposta wake me up!"

Pale blue eyes danced frantically in eyes widened to their limits. His brows tilted down at a violent angle.

I flinched at his outburst, "I- I didn't want you to come," I said in a small voice.

Jon snapped out of his rage and stopped himself, "I didn’ mean ta--"

"It's okay," I bit my lip, trying in vain to hold back tears, "I'm sorry I worried you, I just--needed air."

Jon frowned, "I'm supposta keep an eye on you."

"I know," I sniffled, then set the bag on the coffee table.

I sat down on the couch, joining Crane beneath the big knitted blanket. "You're worried about me," the tears flooded out of my eyes, "It's kind of nice to know you're worried about me."

Jon gave me a sad look, and wrapped a warm hand around my shoulder.

I let out a somber sigh, wiping sway the tears. I fumbled my fingers together, "Why did it have to get so damn complicated?"

Jon looked at me quizzically, and I leaned away from him slightly.

"So much has changed in such little time," I said, "It used to be pretty simple. Ed and I would go for lunch during work hours, I'd spend the weekend with Bruce insisting to Harvey and Grace that 'I, no matter the circumstance, would never date Bruce Wayne!'

I used to go to your class and we'd do our dance for hours until you finally realized we went over time again." I chuckled when a small smile curled on his lips, "Then I'd visit your office if I didnt work, and we continued to chat.

It was so much more simple then. I spent all my time writing essays and reading studies-- I would stay in the library for hours after classes ended, and you always found me there if you needed me."

I swallowed, "You were my friend, Jon."

"I'm still-"

"I know you want to be," I sighed. "I trusted you, I forgave you for gassing me, I forgave you for hurting me-- I keep forgiving you, Jon. Its hard to forgive when you keep one-upping yourself."

I wanted to scream out, but, I settled for a weak sob, "I want to forgive you-- but there's no guarantee that you won't hurt me again. There never is."

The TV murmured in the background as Jon quietly listened. I let out a weak laugh, and leaned forward to pluck the pie I'd bought from the store from the bag.

"Dr. Crane," I looked into a duet of sky-blue stones, "I wish it was simple again."

I looked at Jon and smiled, nearing him, as I set the pie to rest between us.

"For today," I whispered, pressing my forehead to his, "Can we pretend it's simple again?"

Crane sighed, sliding the pads of his fingers to the side of my cheek: "Of course, Ms. Crowley."

"Happy Birthday, Dr. Crane," I whispered with a somber smile and an ache in my chest, "I got you a pecan pie."

Crane's fingers dipped behind my neck, and his other hand warmly embraced my waist. He pressed a kiss to my lips, and smiled, "Pecan pie? My favorite."

[crowley-in-arkham]

Hello Dr. Crowley! So I'll take it as I was right?

Well considering your absence, of course I was. If you can't tell, I've stolen Harley's phone and am currently with her.

Without you and Jon here, let's say the Arkham cafeteria has turned into an absolute shithole. Harvey is trying to gut Jervis and, if Mr. Squires doesn't manage taming him: may succeed in doing that, Ivy has been put into solitary again, and you two assholes left me here.

Eagerly waiting your damn return:

Edward "Irate and homicdal" Nygma.

Well Edward,

#1, communicating a threat is illegal.

#2 What poor soul spoke poorly of Ivy's plants this time?

#3 Harvey is doing what?

I'm afraid I'm not allowed to go to Arkham while I'm under observation-- and by "under observation" I mean, Jon is sleeping on my couch and telling me things like "Mina, why the hell your furniture so small", "My lanky ass can't fit on your damn couch!" and "D'ya need me ta grab that? Short-ass."

I do think I might be able to send in Jon, but, I don't think you'd be very fond of that. So, thank you, Edward, but I'm afraid we're going to have to leave you in hell a little longer.

[crowley-in-arkham]

I fell asleep on my couch half way through Bride of Re-Animator, I think. I'm not entirely sure. Last I remember is, "He's a wife beater, Dan! Use the gun!"

I was snuggled into a blanket on the couch, legs drawn up against my body. I blinked my eyes open to a real scare: Scarecrow loomed over me.

Sunken black eyes, a wide rugged burlap grin. A hat shrouded his full upper body in darkness and straw shot out of his shoulders, like broken limbs frozen in time, from beneath heavy layered leather and burlap.

He laughed hollowly, bringing theatrically a long boney finger to the lips of his mask and cooing a "hush, child," in an eerie ridgid tone, as opposed to the smoothness I were accustomed in his voice.

The massive spectre leaned down towards me, bending at the hips like a stiff clockwork marionette. Branch-like fingers gripped hard the couch, black steel blades that looked like claws jut out from distressed holes in his gloves. I caught my breath in my throat.

He seemed to float above me, caging me between him and couch--just inches from my face. I breathed in shakily, peering into the shrouded ice-blue gaze that lingered within the mask.

"Boo."

Suddenly a piece of candy was dropped onto my cheek from a hidden hand behind the couch which made me smile.

Jon took the hat and mask off then returned to his full height. He chuckled, "Christ, damned hard to scare you with cheap tricks, huh?"

I rolled over, onto my back, then stretched out, "Already time? We were so lazy today." I groaned pathetically. I looked up at Jon with a dreamy hazy gaze, "You look good," I smiled up at him.

Chuckling at myself I added a jagged groggy, "Jesus," as I stretched and yawned.

"Coffee?"

I smiled, dazed, stumbling up to Jon. Suddenly, I wrapped my arms around him, which was met by a widened gaze and an expression any onlooker would denote as horrified.

"Boo," I cooed.

I let go of him and stretched again, "I am very much interested in that coffee."

"Why did you-"

I smiled a playfully and purred: "Because nothing scares the Scarecrow except the thought of someone getting close to him."

Jon stared at me for a moment before I waltzed down the hall to get changed.

When I got dressed, I slipped a respirator around my neck; as it was Halloween and I might as well celebrate it among the Gothamites.

I rushed out and sped to my coffee when Jon chuckled, "'O' course, yer a prepared gothamite."

Estatically I exclaimed, opening up my arms with a sudden burst of post-nap energy: "We're like a PSA!"

Jon rolled his eyes and snickered, "Shuddup."

I clamored down the stairs to flick on the hallway light and the light outside. I then unlocked the front door and the outside gate.

Jon followed behind me in a short lag watching as I was a whirlwind, the candy bowl in his hands.

"You're jus' a little energetic ball, ain't'cha?" Jon snickered, "The kids are just comin' out."

"It's Halloween," I said in a higher pitch and looked up at him, "I'm excited."

Jon raised a brow and huffed amusedly, "Christ."

The door of the complex was knocked on, and I absolutely lit up. I plucked the candy bowl from Jon and exclaimed:

"It's showtime, Jonny!"

Jon tilted his head and smirked, "Gotham's takin' it's toll on you, hun. Yer startin' to sound like Harley."

I smiled, and pulled my mask over my lips, and flicked off the hall lights, shrouding Jon, as the Scarecrow, in darkness.

I smiled softly and nodded, opening the door and letting it creak on it's hinges.

I was greeted by an air of Halloween excitement, clenching the orange bowl of candy in my hands. I smiled with my eyes at the kids dressed in an assortment of costumes: A Dracula, a witch, a superman, and a batman, greeted me at the door.

The chaperones, an adult couple in like-themed costumes, cooed softly at the kids, "What do you say?" The guardians were dressed in delightful Victorian gowns with blood dripping from one's lips and faux fangs, and the other with a bloody mess on her throat.

The kids, gleefully, said, "Trick or treat!"

I leaned down with the candy bowl, and smiled, "Well, here's a treat!"

Only for the little batman to gasp, drawing the attention of the crowd away from me.

My stomach fluttered in excitement when the boy exclaimed, not in terror but, rather, fascination--a starstruck expression on his face: "The Scarecrow!"

The women suddenly paled in the face, and behind me Jon loomed, towering over me, and, as Scarecrow, over everyone.

With a low guttural ominous chuckle he said: "Not a trick."

The ladies stared at Crane in horror, stepping back and pulling the children by the arms gently away from our door. "L-let's go, we have more houses to visit!"

"Happy Halloween," Scarecrow smiled with a slow disjointed wave as the group hurried off.

"I like your costume, Mr. Scarecrow!" Called back the little Dracula. I waved estatically at the kids as they were dragged off.

I turned and squealed at Jon as the family trailed out of sight, "Awe! They really liked you!"

"Ya see that couple?" Jon chuckled itching his skin through the burlap mask, "I thought their souls left their damn bodies soon as that kid said sumthin."

I popped my respirator, and took a fresh breath. "Oh no," I said dramatically, "I've been attacked by the Scarecrow! He's gonna get me."

Jon rolled his eyes, "You wouldn't even complain, jackass." He leaned forward and looked at the mound of candy, "Whatcha got in that bowl?"

I raised a brow, "Didn't you buy this candy?"

"Yeah, but I kinda grabbed blindly, ion know what the hell is in that."

I rolled my eyes, "Good lord, just paw through."

I watched him pluck out a small caramel candy and pop it in his mouth.

He smiled at me as another knock rung on my door, "Didn't think you'd get any trick or treaters this close to Arkham."

"I'm not that close to Arkham, besides, Otisburg is a straight shot from Wayne Manor. Everyone knows Alfred always gives the best candy in Gotham."

"Alfred?"

"Oh, Bruce’s butler."

"Bruce? You on a first name basis with Wayne?"

"He and I are-- acquainted," I chuckled, "In those few years you were in Arkham I got to know Harvey through work, then we became friends. So, by proxy, I was aquainted with Grace and Bruce."

I turned on my heel and opened the door greeted by another round of "Trick or Treat!" This time Scarecrow loomed with a different tone, sending the chaperone flying down the street with the two middleschoolers they were taking care of.

I turned and raised a brow.

"Grace?" He asked.

"Harvey's ex-fiancée."

"That man was almost married?"

"Yeah," I responded quietly. "Yeah, he was. You weren't aware?"

"Mina, I was in prison."

"You were in rehab, Jon."

"A rehabilitative penitentiary."

I shrugged, "Same difference."

"Hardly."

Jon leaned in, unusually invested, "How close are you and Bruce?"

"If you're asking if I was involved with him," I stared at Jon, slightly annoyed by his insinuation, "Absolutely not."

"Nah, I just meant how well you--" He was cut off by a knock on the door, "More kids."

I sighed and shook my head, lifting up the bowl of candy before being startled by another knock.

The knock was much louder, then a familiar voice squawked through the door:

"Mina? Mina! It's Oswald!" Oswald "The Penguin" Cobblepot called through the door in his nasaly voice. There was a pause as I heard him mutter to himself, "Right, right. I forgot she's on the second floor."

There was another pause.

Jon and I looked at one another in confusion. When I heard my phone ring upstairs, I shook my head, accepted Oswald Cobblepot was knocking, then opened the door to Oswald hunkered over his phone. He looked up and nearly leapt out of his skin.

"Good lord!" He let out his breath, "Oh, of course. Scarecrow."

Jon snickered, "Happy Halloween to ya too, Penguin."

"What are you doing here?" Oswald asked Jon, I hesitated.

"Observation. Doctor's orders," Jon stated flatly.

Oswald raised a brow.

"I-" I sighed, "I had an episode at Arkham, Jon's staying with me until I'm sound."

Oswald looked at me with a dark brown gaze, dissatisfied with my answer.

"And your patients?"

"Under either Jeramiah or Hugo's care for the time being."

"Why're you here, Penguin?" Jon had taken his mask off and folded his arms, staring down at Oswald with a raised brow.

"I have a name, you cretin," Oz snapped.

"Sorry, "Oswald", lemme reiterate: What the hell're you doin' here?" Jon spat.

I was confused, and irritated, by Jon and Oswald's hostility towards one another.

Oswald fixed his bowtie and chortled a nasaly laugh: "I was passing through on my way to Mr. Wayne's Halloween party this year. I thought I'd stop by and check in on my favorite doctor. Of course, not you, Jonathan."

"Oh, right," I said through clenched teeth. Bruce hosts a party every Halloween, and without fail, he puts me on the guest list every year. I very seldom go: I'm not fond of parties.

"Why I sense bullshit, Cobblepot?" Jon stared at Penguin with a hard expression, his voice growing more rigid.

"Of course," Oz muttered. Oswald sighed and rolled his hand in a gesture, dramatically saying, "Because you're paranoid, Jonathan! Afraid of having someone usurp all that control of yours, right, Crowley."

"D'I needa show you why I'm the master a' fear?" Jon growled, making pinch the skin between my eyes before I stepped between the two birds in my apartment building and motioned a yield in hopes of quelling the incoming.

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, you mutated hay bale."

It didn't do much.

Jon seethed in his spot, shooting a, by all accounts (save oswald's), terrifying look at the shorter man. I'm surprised he seemed so unbothered by it, I'd probably have recoiled into my skin.

"Let's relax," I stated flatly, knowing full well the irony of the frustrated tone of my voice, "Oswald, we should catch up another time;" I said, "I don't want you to be late to Bruce Wayne's affair because of me, after all."

I motioned Jon up the stairs, which he followed: looking like a prickling cat. Then, I basically shoved Oswald out the door of my apartment complex with a fractured smile, "Sorry, Oswald, I just can't deal with an angry Scarecrow tonight: uh, tell Bruce I said hello, would you? And-- tell Alfred that I'm terribly sorry I couldn't make it again this year. I'll visit soon."

Oswald chuckled, and motioned dramatically, "Of course, of course, Crowley. You should make it to the Iceberg Lounge sometime! Bring your dog too! Why not? I'm sure he could do well taken down a few notches."

I sighed, "If I have the time, I'll stop by. Preferably without my Arkham babysitter."

"You sound like Harvey saying that," Oswald joked.

I mumbled to myself, "In more ways than one."

Oswald turned on his heel and gestured dramatically: "Iceberg Lounge, Miss Crowley! I've a few things to discuss with you about, perhaps the future of Arkham Asylum? Perhaps the future of Gotham? My electooooral campaign?" He chortled, "I'm always free when it comes to you, my dear. Just stop by, have a drink!"

I closed the front gate as the matte black car sped off. I closed the door, and shut the lights off to the downstairs.

"He never stops in," I said, entering my apartment and closing the door behind me, "What was that about?"

"Probably knew I was here," Jon said. He sat haphazardly on my couch again, this time the mask sat beneath his hat on the coffee table.

"He knew you weren't a-"

"He's been in on it the whole time."

I pinched the skin between my eyes, growling quietly before bursting out: "How deep does this fucking lie run? If you're going to be crashing on my damn couch for the next week-- Christ, or in my bed again! I need you to cut the fucking bullshit, Jonathan. Just be fucking transparent for one damn moment in our relationship, is that so much to ask?"

Jon looked at me with a surprised expression, stumbling over what to say momentarily.

"Mina I-"

"Just- be quiet," I massaged my right temple with the pads of my fingers, "Things just don't change, do they?"

I turned on my heel and made my way to my bedroom; Victor glued to my ankle. I closed the door.

It was that soft blue darkness it was the night before, kids still sounded out the window. I sat on my bed, before flopping onto my back, Victor opting to lay directly on top of me.

"Hey buddy," I said to the fluff, "You never really hear me yell, do you?"

A duet of big green eyes looked down at me.

"I'm sorry," I sighed, ruffling the hair between his ears, "I just-- expect him to be better than he is."

The cat looked at me blankly and I chuckled, "Yeah. It's dumb, isn't it? I'm asking a lot out of a former terrorist."

Victor purred, blinking slowly at me.

"He was never a good man," I chuckled, "but he was-- and is a man I respect."

I moved Victor off of me, and curled into a more comfortable spot on the bed, Victor rejoining me.

"Am I just holding onto the memory of a man that never was, Victor?"

The cat didn't react.

There was a sound of a chattering beak, followed by a disjointed, "Yes, you are."

I let out a sigh, and pulled a blanket up, placing a kiss on the cat's head. "I'm sorry for rattling off. Goodnight, Victor."

I closed my eyes, pulling the blanket over my shoulder at another chattering sound.

"Goodnight, Carrion."

[crowley-in-arkham]

Horror Binge

When I blinked awake this morning I found myself dreamily surprised by Jon's presence in my bed. He lay dozed off under where my head rest, a quiet whistle seeping out his nose as he slept.

His shirt was dealt plenty inky black marks of yesterday's eyeliner.

I didn't get up right away, Zephyr stirred as I did, and promptly left the room.

I kept my head on the warm comfort of Jon's chest, listening to the beating of his heart and the quiet sounds his sleeping body made. I'm surprised he doesn't snore.

He was-- boney, unsurprisingly, but comfortable in the way that he stayed relatively distant as we slept, not smothering me in him but also not avoiding me like the plague.

My head was snugly nuzzled into him, an intoxicating concoction of cologne, chemicals, and coffee beans clung to his shirt and seeped into my nose.

He let out a grumble in his sleep, his expression, unusually calm, twisting into a short-lived scowl.

I chuckled quietly, and sat up in the Gotham morning darkness. Stopping to look at the napping Jon that lay on my bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes.

Auburn hair flaked in white and grey, scars haphazardly across his body. Lips, eye, cheeks, neck, arms, and I know they're everywhere else as well.

I slowly crawled off the bed and looked back to Jon laying spread out on my bed. I'll ask him how he got in there later.

I crept out of the bedroom and made my way to the kitchen, making a single cup of coffee, and prepping a second in case Jon wakes up, or I get to it too.

I set the mug down in the bathroom, flicking on the shower: noting the sudden appearance of flannels and pants hanging from my towel rack, a black toothbrush next to my orange one, and a collection of soap and a bottle of-- two-in-one shampoo/conditioner, to which I was not at all surprised.

I took a rather short, yet, warm shower. Jon coughed once and I heard the creak of my apartment floor as he made his way by, stopping to say, "G'mornin' dumbass."

To which I retorted over the running water: "Coffee should still be hot."

I heard him chuckle and say, "I could get used ta this," as he made his way down the rest of the hall.

I flicked off the shower and wrapped up in a towel, stepping out to brush my teeth. I heard Victor lament beyond the door for me, then Jon called from the kitchen, "Uh, Mina, where in the hell you put the creamer?"

"In the jar labeled creamer, Jonathan."

There was a mocking lighthearted grumble of "In the jar labeled creamer," and with particular emphasis on, "Jonathan."

Then a pause followed by a: "Ah, shit. Nev'rmind! I found it."

I rolled my eyes and made my way to the kitchen, where Jon had helped himself to my left over burger. He leaned against the counter, with the to-go container in his hand, eating the burger cold.

With stuffed cheeks he said, "You weren't s'posed to see this."

I gave him an amused look, and made my way over to the closet pantry to pluck out a bag of grits, to which his eyes widened in a twinge of surprise and an air of excitement.

"Oh fuck," he smiled, in whatever disjointed way a Jonathan Crane does that--like a tall slim dog wagging his tail.

I snickered and filled a small pot with water.

I turned on my heel and snuck back into my bedroom, tossing on the casual autumn day-clothes. While I got dressed I noted that all the clothes Jonathan had brought were the same outfit in slightly different color combinations. I never noticed it until now. Nor had I noticed that his boots were needlessly heavy composite toe cowboy boots. He works at an asylum.

I chucked at him absent-mindedly, and in my slippers I made my way back to tje boiling pot of water, slowly sprinkling in my grits, hastily taking a moment to flick out a pan to prep some ham and eggs.

Into the grits was some of my father's smoked cheddar, just to appease Jon's curiosity, a heft of garlic powder and pepper, and as simple as that I'd finished the grits.

Sunny side up eggs I'd bought from a farm just outside if Gotham: and some ham I picked up from a deli in a nearby shop. I dusted the ham in a small amount of salt and pepper, same as the eggs, and I set two plates on the small island I typically ate at. One was loaded in eggs, grits, and ham, and the other had enough to feed a few birds.

When I sat down, Jon gorged.

Frankly, I'd never seen Jon inhale food that way. He took a bite, savored it with a groan, before basically swallowing the plate.

He leaned back into the chair and let out a chuckle, "Ya fin'ly made up for those damn grits ya promised me."

I rolled my eyes with a smile, "They probably got incinerated."

Jon snickered, standing up and making his way towards the door. He lifted up a bowl filled in a mountain of assorted treats and with a twisted grin he asked: "Ya ready to see sum Gotham blood run cold t'night?"

I stifled a laugh, "Good lord, they're gonna think you poisoned the candy."

He chuckled, "For what? Think just 'cause I sum kin'a supervillain in a burlap bag I'm gettin' my rocks off to poisonin' their kids? Please. If I was 'unna toxin kids, which woun't sit with me despite tha shambles a' my morals, I'd just pump a school with the shit, woun't I?"

I shrugged; then caught myself: "Jon, you can't just say 'If I wanted to gas children, I'd gas children a different way'."

"I'm just sayin'."

"Say less, Jonathan, say less."

There was a momentary silence, as I picked up our plates and Jon flopped himself down on the couch.

"You feeling any better?"

"Jonathan, I killed a man yesterday." I stroked a sud-riddled sponge down a plate, "It's a bit too soon to tell."

"Don't seem as upset about it as last night."

"Trying to take my mind off of it," I sighed, "Trying to remember it wasn't me that did it-- and it probably wasn't the first time-- and- and-"

Jon sighed then interjected, "Well, any thoughts on what ya wanna do today?

"Uh-" I paused, "You're not going into work?" I raised a brow, looking back to him.

"I think we'd both prefer that little jackass," He pointed a thin finger at my cat, "to survive just in case Carrion tries again."

I smiled solemnly, a pang tearing through my heart at the thought, "Yeah, I'd prefer you were here. Just in case."

Victor had made his way to Jon and stuffed his little grey head against Crane's neck.

"He's taking to you."

"We bonded last night."

I suddenly snapped back to before: "Right, about last night--"

"You were cryin', thought I'd check in."

"Oh," I nodded to myself, "That makes sense."

I sighed, "You just kinda pass out there?"

He chuckled, "Sleep just 'bout anywhere."

"You can eat just about anything too."

"This 'bout the peanuts?"

I snickered; "Except the damn peanuts."

Jon rolled his eyes and chuckled, kicking his feet onto the coffee table and sipping a new cup of coffee I didn't realize he made.

"You done over there?" Jon asked nearly impatiently, he'd suddenly stood up and closed the blinds.

"Not gonna murder me I hope?" I said jokingly.

"I'd've done it last night if I was gonna," he cooed as he made his way over to me. Jon flicked the main light off and left me in the dimness of the single bulb that glowed over the sink.

"Hurry up, I wanna watch a movie."

"You're impatient as hell," I giggled plucking the jack-o-lantern dish rag from it's seat beside the sink to dry my hands.

Jon smirked crookedly, "Always."

He flicked me on the forehead and said, "And that's fa yesterday. Now, get in the damn livingroom and get comfy. It's fuckin' Halloween and we're bingin' horror movies until sunset."

I rolled my eyes and sat on the couch, Jon then asked from behind me, clattering in the kitchen: "Where tha hell ya keep yer snacks?"

I snickered, "Jon, you just ate!"

"Uhuh," His head popped over the counter, "An' I'll be hungry lata."

I chuckled, "Just get in here."

Jon chuckled and basically stepped over the arm of the couch to sit beside me. He grabbed the remote and flicked on a streaming service to expose me to whatever flicks he clearly had in mind with the most boyish grin I'd ever seen on his face.

[crowley-in-arkham]

My home.

The ride to my house was quiet and tense. My clothes were stained, unsurprisingly. I'll have to get rid of them. Crane's truck, for its behemoth, felt tight, despite the space between us being nearly a foot in length.

It smelled like coffee and cigarettes; a sweet hint of burlap and straw lingered faintly in the air. The dash was coated in a layer of dust, and the truck itself seemed to hobble down the Gotham streets.

I watched the city lights dance on the water as we crossed the bridge from Arkham Island. In the water emerged the beast, Carrion. I turned to look at Crane instead.

"Do you even know where I live?" I asked softly; Crane nodded, his eyes straight ahead.

"Your address is on file."

I have an sound of acknowledgment then looked back to the water where Carrion had vanished back into the inky black pool.

"Jon," I started, "Can you tell me more about Scarecrow?"

I heard Jonathan snicker, "As my therapist or my friend?"

My fsce fell red at the prospect of "friend".

"As your friend, I suppose," I said in a small voice.

"He's me; like Carrion is you. Though it's a little different. Scarecrow is suggestive; it's more like someone's cooin' in my ear tellin' me to do shit. He'on need control. Most a' it, I chose to do; sometimes 'a keep him quiet, sometimes 'cause I wanna. He takes over, but it ain't always against my will. He'on usually suppress me anymore. Stops bein' one a' us starts bein' both a' us."

"It isn't always like that?"

"Scarecrow's a little rudimentary."

"In what way?"

"Kinda like a child, I s'pose," Jon motioned his hand, "Impulsive, angry. Ion got much control over his tantrums."

"Now-"

"'Fore you go Dr. Crowley on me, I've oughta ask:" Jon stated, "couldja pass me a cigarette?"

I tilted my head at Crane, "uh, where do you put them?"

"Check the glovebox," Jon said, "Usually gotta spare in there."

I ran my hand through the dust on the latch, and popped the glovebox door, which fell open with a thud. There were papers, receipts, a half-finished carton of nonfilter cigarettes, and--

A gorgeous bronze-colored revolver with a beautiful spruce grip engraved with crows.

"Jon you can't have this," I furrowed my brows, "You're a felon."

"It ain't mine."

"Like hell it isn't."

"Ain't she pretty though?"

I plucked a pack of cigarettes from the carton, tapped the bottom to my palm several times, then plucked a single sweet-scented cigarette from the pack.

I placed the butt of the cigarette against Jon's scarred lip, and whispered mockingly, "You want me to light it too, hun?"

Jon laughed a guttural laugh, "Di'n't answer my damn question. An' no, I can take care 'a it."

He flicked a lighter out of his coat pocket, and lit the cigarette. "Wan' one?" He flicked the lighter towards me.

"No, I don't smoke."

"Good girl, always had been."

"It's a nice gun."

"Ain't she? Damned slow to reload though."

"How'd you get it?"

"Was a gift from Oz."

"Wonderful wizard," I joked.

Jon shot me a look, then smirked. "S'pose that makes you Dorothy."

And I snapped back gleefully, "And that makes you brainless!"

He plumed smoke from his lips as he chuckled.

"Your place out by that diner, right?"

"Why, you hungry?"

"Starvin'. Whatcha want?"

"You don't want me to cook?"

"Ya can cook tomorrow."

"Halloween's tomorrow."

Jon looked somewhat surprised, then chuckled, "So it is. Well, yer stayin' home for it. Gonna have some trick-or-treaters?"

"I live on the second floor."

Jon shot me a look, "we're pickin' up fuckin' candy."

"Thought you didn't like kids."

He chuckled, "You think this is for the kids."

I raised a brow and tilted my head, "Then who--"

"C'mon, think about it."

I chuckled, picturing the faces of Gotham's parents falling white when the Scarecrow opens my apartment door with candy for their kids.

I began laughing a bit harder, "Christ, just imagine the look of their face!"

"Probably shit 'emselves."

Jon snickered as I spiraled into a wheeze, "We're picking up candy, you've convinced me."

I caught my breath, and Jon smiled dumbly as he stared ahead.

I swallowed and asked in a recuperating breath: "The hell you smiling about?"

"You," Jon said. I flushed.

"Ain't never seen you laugh like that, whole time knowing you." He turned into a street, "just different, I suppose."

The lights of the city flicked behind him.

"Ya usually got all these pretenses, this veil 'a control," he huffed amusedly, "Seen different sides 'a you today. That there though? Tha's a new one."

The truck hobbled around a corner and crawled into a parking space between two cars half it's size.

My apartment complex is a small building of four apartments. I was lucky to find myself an apartment so close to Arkham Island-- then again, most of the city's residents try to steer away from districts near the bridges that connect Arkham to Gotham as far as they can.

Even the white tattered building showed a fear of Gotham's criminals in the bars that line the downstairs windows.

Jon stepped out of his truck and made his way to my side, opening the door for me.

"Very gentlemanly, Dr. Crane," I teased.

"Shut up," he chuckled, "It's the polite thing to do."

"Truely the apex of your southern hospitality," I stepped- more accurately: hopped down from his truck's passenger seat.

"Lead the way, miss."

I made my way to the front door, Jon's truck's lights left us in the all encompassing dark of Gotham. Jon lingered behind me as I plopped a code in the lock and opened the iron gate, and then the same for the heavy green door beneath it.

"A lil paranoid?"

"It's Gotham, they have reason to be."

"Yet, here I am," snickered Jon, "Waltzin' in under their poor lil' noses."

"I'm sure you're not so cruel as to gas my entire apartment complex."

"I mean," Jon snickered, "Ain't ever stopped me before."

I closed the gate and door behind Jon as he stepped into the dim sage green hallway, dilapidated stairs to his left, a door to each of his sides.

He let out a chuckle, "Of I weren't, well, me, I'd say this place were eerie."

"Well, it's an apartment building in the middle of the night, they're all kind of eerie."

Jon smirked at me, "After you, miss."

I rolled my eyes and made my way upstairs, fumbling with the two keys on my lanyard before plugging the smaller of the two into my apartment door and pushing it open.

"Vic, I'm home!" I said as I flicked on the light to my apartment, I motioned Jon into the rust brown corridor. "Welcome to my humble abode."

He strode in, like a man on stilts, eyeing my autumn decor with a critical eye. I turned to lock the door behind us.

He chuckled, entering the main room. An open layout kitchen and living room, melted into one modestly sized commonroom.

"Looks like a little dollhouse in here," He teased looking down at my furniture.

"Not all of us are trees," I responded, with a look of amusement.

He chuckled, "Gotta dust the top 'a yer shit."

I rolled my eyes, hung up my coat, then took off my shoes, "Relax, stay a while."

Out from my bedroom padded a large grey cat, making his way to me excitedly-- when, suddenly he eyed Jonathan Crane, and promptly darted off to my room.

"That 'Vic'?" Asked Crane, with a raised brow.

"Yeah, Victor," I sighed, "He's just a bit skittish with new people."

"Smart cat," he snickered and took off his coat and shoes, placing his boots beside the bench and hanging up his coat next to mine.

"I'll get you a blanket and a pillow--" I paused, "Sure, you don't want the bed?"

Jon chuckled, "You offerin' ta share?"

I rolled my eyes, "No, you're just-- big."

He let out an amused huff, "Ain't the first time I heard that."

I flushed, "I'm getting you a pillow and blanket." I chuckled, "Dirty old man."

I opened the hallway cupboard and pulled out a knitted blanket and a couple of spare memory foam pillows.

"Whadja you wanna eat?" Jon called down the hallway.

"Just get delivery," I responded, closing the door to the cupboard and stepping out into the livingroom again, "What do you want?"

Jon had flopped himself down on my loveseat and leaned comfortably back as he spoke, "That's what I'm askin' you, walnut."

"Uh-" I pondered for a moment, "There's a Thai place down the road, you like Thai?"

Jon shrugged, "Ion care."

"Thai it is then."

I tossed the blanket and pillow at him and turned to walk away, stopping only to look back at him and say:

"Remotes and stuff are in the drawer on the coffee table, the shelf is classics only, aside from textbooks-- well, you can read. I'm gonna go take a bath and get changed. You need anything just give me a holler."

"'Fore you go--" Jon started, "Wouldja write down the codes to the doors outside for me?"

I tilted my head, then nodded, "I mean, alright. You picking something up?"

"'N case I need 'a go on a liquor run."

I rolled my eyes, "Gotham's dry by midnight, better go soon."

He chuckled, "Probably be back 'fore you get outta the tub."

I shrugged and smirked, "With your hobbling old ass? You might miss your window."

He rolled his eyes, "Keep talkin' and I'll have you hobblin'."

I snickered, "Yeah? From the jokes you've been making today it's a coin flip between whether that's a threat or an offer."

"Go get in the damn tub," he chuckled tossed a pillow at me, which I promptly threw back.

[crowley-in-arkham]

To say I wore the flannel well would be a joke worth telling. I never entirely notice how much smaller I am than other people. I'm used to looking up, I suppose.

I was drowning in flannel fabric, sleeves draped down over my hands and the shirt was long. I rolled the sleeves up to where I could use my hands. I sat in Crane's office with my hair still damp. I was curled under an itchy wool blanket.

I sat on a cold brown leather couch, back to a bookcase, and a fair distance from Crane's desk. His set up was nearly identical to my own, the lights just dimmed significantly and an empty birdcage sat where my safe would usually be.

Crane sat on the other side of the couch, leaned haphazardly over the arm, his legs crossed and his posture open towards me. A book sat perched in long thin fingers as blue eyes ran over it's contents.

I fumbled with the edge of a blanket.

Crane cleared his throat and chuckled, snapping the book shut between his fingers, "Sorry to deny you a coffee, hun. I just don't think you should consume caffeine right now. Water?"

I shook my head.

"A'ight," he leaned forward and placed the book on the coffee table. He opened his posture towards me, "You wanna talk?"

I stared at him and moved closer to him, "Yeah, yeah. I'll talk."

"How's your cat, anything new?"

"He's fine, been finding massive rats outside my bedroom door."

"Sounds like he's taken to Gotham."

"I was worried he wouldn't."

Jon chuckled, "Felt that way about Craw. How about your family?"

"The old man is still a worried mess about my being here, always had been. Haven't spoken to my brother in about a year and a half."

"Is that typical?"

"Usually, for as close as we are, we don't talk much."

"I see," Jon pulled a drawer open under the coffee table and plucked out a notepad and a pen, "How's that make you feel?"

I chuckled, "Therapy with Dr. Jonathan Crane?"

"I s'pose you can say that."

"It makes me--" I stopped for a moment, gripping the blanket, "I think-- angry? Frustrated."

"Now, why's that?"

"It's a new feeling, usually I'm pretty lenient with him. I think it's because I view his priorities as flawed."

"Oh? Go on."

"He prioritizes this-- romantic love over his ties with his family."

"Well, Mina, why do you think that is?"

I bit my bottom lip and squeezed the blanket around me, "He's afraid of being confronted by the reality of our broken home-- and instead of confronting that fear, he scapegoats blame onto our parents."

"Tell me about your "broken home," Mina."

"My mother walked out on us before I could remember her. My father was a soldier with commitment issues. My father worked active duty, so I never saw him, usually jumping home to home with caretakers, or staying locked in my house with a stepmother or one of my father's girlfriends."

I sighed, "I used to hate my brother for knowing what a family was like."

"Let's explore that unstable home environment," Jon said, sipping at his cup of coffee, "do you remember where the Carrion distinction began?"

I averted my eyes, and tightened the blanket around me, "I do."

"Could you tell me?"

I moved closer to Jon, resting my palm on his knee, pawing little lines into his pants with the tips of my fingers as I recounted the experience.

"One of my father's partners had kids, two boys. I must've been five or six at the time, it's a hazy memory." I continued to run circles on Jon's knee, "We got into some kind of fight, her youngest and I-- he was just shy of a year older than me. I was a small kid, so, I couldn't do much when he pinned me to the floor."

I felt tears well up in my eyes, "He pinned my elbows up on each side of my head with his knees, and clamped his hands around my throat."

I began to shake, rubbing Jon's leg with my sweat covered palm.

"I remember seeing my brother watching. Didn't do a damn thing, boy was petrified. The second my assailants' grip on me loosened up I snapped. I can't remember what happened."

I gripped Jon's knee and sniffled, "I just remember prying skin and blood out of my nails for the next couple of weeks."

Jon tilted his head, "is this the only time Carrion ever took control?"

"No."

"Would you like to tell me about that?"

"Had to do with my old church, they thought my mental illness was some kind of demon. Held me down and tossed holy water on me until I stopped crying."

Jon let out a light chuckle, "damned religious types. You're real open about this Mina."

I sighed a shaky breath, "The trust was pre-established, like what Jeremiah said when I first came here."

"Unorthodox idea on his part, but there a reason doctors don't treat people they know."

"Conflict of interest, I know."

"Yes'm," Jon nodded. He gave me a look I couldn't quite place with those drooping eyes of his, "Mina, you said the boy choked you, right?"

I nodded, then flinched, as Jon lifted his hand.

"I promise I ain't gonna hurt ya," Jon said in a soft tone as his fingers pushed back my hair and touched the pads of his fingers to my neck gently, where he'd once grabbed hard before.

"You a'ight, with me doin this?"

I gave a slow nod, leaning slightly into his palm.

"I'm sorry for what I did a few weeks ago." His fingers gently dipped behind my neck and drew me towards him, "Ya scared of me?"

I nodded again, this time averting my gaze from his.

"Mina," I heard a low tone rumble in his throat before he pulled his hand away.

"I think we oughta shift gears," he stood up rather hastily, the couch springing up with his sudden absence, "Water? Sweet tea?"

I blinked, looking up at him from my seat on the couch, which his eyes darted away from as he neared the mini-fridge by his desk.

"Sweet tea, please."

He let out a chuckle, "Some things ain't never change about you, do they?"

"What do you mean?"

"Used to bring sweet tea to my class every day, don't reckon I've ever seen you drink anything else."

"Water, probably."

He laughed, "Mhm, in your office. Only if Tetch was in there though."

I smiled, "He hates the idea."

Jon rolled his eyes, "Lil hatfucker treats it like murder."

I furrowed my brows and leaned back towards where I originally sat; "You see why he doesn't like you, right?"

Jon sat the duet of glasses on the table and sat back down, "Ya think I give a hot damn what Jervis thinks 'bout me?"

"I suppose not," I huffed amusedly, picking up the glass and taking a sip, "what about Edward?"

"What about Edward?"

"What you think of him and Harvey? You haven't punched either of them so it can't be that bad."

Jon raised a brow, "I tolerate em."

"Harsh," I chuckled, "but that's how you are."

"Now wha's that supposed ta mean?"

"I don't think you like anyone," I chuckled, drawing my legs to my chest, and adding mockingly; "Professor Crane doesn't like any of his students."

"'Cept one."

"Yeah?"

"Think you're a'ight."

"Just alright?"

"Don't get yer hopes up, hun."

"Never did, Jonny."

He raised a brow at me, "Jonny, huh? Been hangin' out with Harley?"

I chuckled, "I think it's cute."

"Shut up."

Jon leaned back into the couch and sighed, "I'm bringin' you home tonight."

I tilted my head, "What? Why?"

"Ion trust your hallucinatin' ass drivin', yer outta yer damn mind," He sipped his tea, crossing his legs like before, "I'm takin' ya home, and I'm unna stay at your apartment; ya gotta couch, dontcha? I can't keep ya in Arkham, but I wanna keep an eye on you since you could be a danger to yerself or someone else."

"Off the record?"

He scoffed, "like rogue to rogue, Mina. Welcome to Arkham Asylum."

[crowley-in-arkham]

I was still staring blankly in the shower. The water's steam plumed around me as I tried uselessly to shroud my form from Crane.

"Do you have to be in here?" I asked in a small voice.

Jon scoffed, "I don't think you should be left alone."

I reached, shakily, towards him to pluck the sponge from out of his hand, "You don't have to wash me; I'm fine, Jonathan."

"You just experienced an episode of violent psychosis, Mina."

"You could at least stand outside."

He stared at me with an immovable stubbornness, "And have you sat here and let it have another round at cha? I'on think so."

I sighed because he was right. He held out his palm, and I gave him my arm.

"Thank you, hun."

His hand was warm, more so than the steam. I jumped at the sting of the hot sponge, and he looked up at me with a raised brow.

"It's just hot," I whispered as the warm water dripped soft pink tears from my arm to my legs.

He chuckled, watching as he pushed the sponge onto my skin again. "I think so too."

I felt my face flush, "Did you just-" I snickered quietly, kicking up some of the water on the floor onto him, "Jonathan Crane!"

He chuckled, "You set it up," He smiled as he dabbed the blood off my arm, "But, seeing you respond normally is a relief."

I looked down at the blood on my hands, then frowned. "How long was I on him?"

"I only realized the screaming was you when I left my office to grab a coffee. You were on him when I came out."

"None of the guards did anything?"

"Well, considerin' a good number of those boys were downstairs when Carrion microwaved Tockman--"

"Right," my leg quaked, "They were probably terrified."

Crane smirked, "I'm sure."

I let out a half-hearted chuckle. "You sound happy about that."

"Well, it's my brand, ain't it?"

I mumbled, "I suppose."

Crane paused to hold my hands in his and looked up at me; "It wasn't your fault."

"How many times are you gonna tell me that?"

"'Til you believe it."

Jon began to wash my other arm.

"Thank you," I mumbled, "For pulling me out."

Crane nodded, "Mn, 'course."

I looked towards the wall, my throat tight as I stated,

"I killed him."

He looked up at me and raised a brow before sighing softly and nodding.

"Yeah. I knew he was dead when I came out."

I teared up and choked. "You keep lying to me."

His eyes fell, "I do."

I bit my lip to hold back a sob. "You've been manipulating me this whole time."

He sighs, "I have."

Tears streamed down my face. "Part of me wants to kill you."

"I know."

I choked out and sobbed, "I don't want to kill you."

"I know."

I raised my hands to my eyes and wiped my tears, speaking between laboring sobs, "Am- am I going to be locked up in here?"

Jon rested his hands on my outer thighs and looked at me with a soft expression.

"No, but I'm 'unna treat cha," Jon's rough, thin fingers firmly gripped my legs in a warm, secure way, "I'm 'unna prescribe you some antipsychotics and help make sure you don't freak out again. I'm 'unna help you get better."

I sniffled, "Why?"

Jon raised a brow. "Why?"

"Yeah," I wiped my eyes again, "Why? Why help? You haven't helped before."

Jon sighed and nodded. "Fair enough. I'm not a good man; there ain't no reason for you to trust me."

I ran my fingers over his. "Why did you stop me?"

Jonathan smiled softly. "Why did you bring a pie?"

I was surprised by the question.

"What?"

"You brought me a pecan pie."

"It was your birthday—"

"You know a "Happy Birthday Professor" woulda reasonably sufficed."

"Well, I-"

"You care, Mina. I know you care."

I blushed slightly and nodded.

"You ain't never done a damn thing but care," he said sharply, his grip on my legs growing rigid. "Maybe that's why. Maybe I want you to care."

"You intended for this—"

"I didn't think it'd scare the shit outta me!" He seemed angry. "I ain't been scared in a long time; Carrion is one thing, but you? You scared the hell outta me."

I tilted my head.

"I thought it'd put you two back together, one full Crowley again." He grit his teeth. "I didn't get that. It was one or the other—I shouldn't've listened to your damn Hyde."

I reached my hand to his cheek and looked at him, "Hey, hey—one full Crowley?"

He nodded. "I could fix you. I was convinced I could fix you."

"You aren't thirty years of therapy, Jon."

"No," He chuckled, "No, I'm not."

"Then don't try to be," I sighed, "We can work it now, better."

"I thought I was the Professor of psychology."

I flicked him on the forehead. "Shut up."

He helped me stand up again and turned off the shower head.

"Remember what I said earlier?"

"I'll be in your office all day today?"

"Yes'm," his smile creased the skin around his lips, "You'll be safe there. All I've oughta do is talk with Hugo and Jeremy and get you all sorted out, okay?"

"Yessir."

"You'll be shaken up for a while."

"Mhm."

"Gonna be okay by yourself?"

To be frank, I didn't want to be alone. I didn't quite respond when Crane sighed.

"A'ight. I'll stay with you until you feel comfortable. I don't wanna take you into the main building like this; it might send you over."

He was referring to the toxin, of course.

"Thank you."

"Mn, let's get some fresh clothes on you; damned cold in here."

I followed him out of the shower and then was met with a thrown towel to my face.

"Now, I don't got much in the way of spares, so I'll wash your clothes downstairs. In the meantime," He unbuttoned his flannel and tossed it at me, now wearing his coat and an undershirt, "Wear that."

I nodded, having wrapped myself in a towel.

"Let's get you upstairs."

[crowley-in-arkham]

When Paper Birds Fly

Arkham Island was covered in a thick blanket of grey morning fog rolling in from the sea. The standing lamps that lined the walls and guard towers glowed through the fog, drawing hazy grey outlines of miscellaneous shapes whose identities were lost to the morning darkness.

The dewy grass shimmered below the white light, the cold wetness seeping through the suede of my ankleboot heels. The cold, damp morning air stuck to my skin like mucus to a snail.

My eyes flicked around the dark grey mist, figures of a dark shade morphed and changed like massive uncanny amoeba in the opaque gas, ferrofluid at the introduction of a magnet.

I stopped between the buildings, and sung absent-mindedly, as was my pacifier. Perhaps the toxin still coursed through my system, making the mask all but pointless-- but I watched with a weary gaze the figures moving in the dark. Lingering close, but never stepping through the shroud.

A beast emerged above them, shrouded by the veil, massive and black, with a rearing crow's skull head and sharp teeth that rowed it's beak like an alligators'. The beast had a body of an emaciated man with human-like arms, long and spindly like trunks of trees, and clawed branch-like fingers that stretched feet from human palms.

Slick, shimmering feathers cascaded down its sides, and when it opened its mouth it revealed a long beastly tongue as plumes of hot breath rolled from its alizarin throat through blades of teeth.

"Kill him," the beast croaked in a low broken up tone, "Tear him and the rest of this wretched city apart."

The head of the monstrosity twisted to the side and its long serpent-like neck careened down as it clamored on heavy crouched hind-legs and the knuckles of it's clawed hands to me, like an ape chimera. It's tail, like that of a velociraptor, curled behind it and flared its feathers out.

The creature exhaled, it's breath fogging the glass of my mask, and it's sheer size making me stumble back as it, again, spoke through a chattering beak, "look at what this place has bore from us."

I stared into the eyes of the beast, black and hidden among it's dark face. It leaned in, are repeated.

"Tear him to shreds. Tear it all to shreds."

For a flash I imagined it, before a frustrated scream rolled from my diaphragm.

"Stop it!" I cried out clenching the roots of my hair and scalp, "Stop it!"

The beast rolled its head to the side and its claws ran their warmth against my spine.

"You're angry at him," the beast purred, "he'll never disappoint you again."

"I'm not going to kill anyone," I spat. Yet, I felt myself gasping for air as I felt it's thrashing inside me, and it's warmth around me.

"Liberate yourself from his snare," a crooked smile met the rigid beak, "become like you were born to be."

The feeling is all consuming, the need to get rid of it. Something inside so much larger than the vessel it lives in, so much stronger than the vessel it lives in. Thrashing, screaming, clawing, begging to be released when your mind is most vulnerable.

"Borne of Cain," The beast chittered, "doomed to bare his mark."

Like an animal in a corner lashes out, I grabbed ahold of the beast, clawed, ripped, with all intentions to kill it.

Feathers, blood, flesh, tearing into another like the monster I was born to be. Burrowing in its flesh with my bare hands like I recall having done once before-- but this time I did not recoil.

Blind, animalistic rage. Saliva dripping from my lips--a lamb finally snapping on its wolf, wearing it's flesh as it tramples it's corpse.

I didn't even see the beast become a man.

Tearing me out of my blindness was a familiar voice:

"Hey," it called, then, with greater urgency, "Hey! Damn it! Crowley?!"

Pulled my nails from the bloodied face and throat of the man I had attacked, feeling nausea suddenly well up inside me.

I looked down at the guard, then at the caked skin that caused only a small discomfort under my nails: "Yall back off o' her! Damn it, Mina."

I hadn't looked as Crane hurried over to me. The warmth of his palm made me jump, and fully dragged me back to reality.

"Mina? Can you hear me?"

I swallowed hard and jumped back, scrambling some distance between myself and my victim.

My quaking hands made haste to remove the mask from my face, the fog of the shaded lenses now gone.

"No- no, no nonono!" I stared at the mangled body.

Cranes voice barked to someone aside, "Someone get the damned medical unit out here!"

"I- I- I fuck- I fucking killed him," I felt nausea set in and bile rise into my throat, I swallowed hard to keep it down, "I- I fucking attacked someone!"

Jon grabbed my shoulders, and blocked my view of the body, "Mina. Look at me. He can recover. You're a'ight."

My eyes, flicked back and forth before settling into the stark blue gaze of the man just minutes before I pondered killing.

"Do you know where you are?"

I nodded in jagged motions.

"Tell me."

"A- Arkham. Arkham Asylum."

"Mhmn, ai'te, where you live at?"

"O-Otisburg. Otisburg, Gotham."

"Can you tell me who the Mayor is?"

"Umn, Hill? Hamilton Hill."

"Good, now, Dr. Crowley, I'm 'unna walk ya up to the shower, a'ight? And we're gonna get you cleaned up. Then you're gonna stay with me in my office for the day, alright?"

"Y- yes. Okay, professor," Crane picked up my mask, and laid his coat over my shoulders as he began to walk me up to building B.

The doctors had hurried out and placed my victim on his gurney. The black bag was enough to tell me Crane was lying.

[crowley-in-arkham]

I think I must've sent Strange into the ceiling with my gas mask.

He jumped, then, as he settled, snickered.

"Well, good morning to you Crowley."

"Where is Jonathan?"

"Or-- not. Carrion."

"Crowley."

"Did Crane tell you?"

"Different bird entirely."

"Right, right. The orderly. Crane did say he was a risk."

"Where is Jonathan? I'm not asking."

"Mn, don't make me blush, Crowley. You're starting to sound like Batman."

"Jon. Now."

"In his office."

"Where? You're being vague."

"Carrion was right; you really are the same person." He leaned back in his chair and readjusted his glasses. "Building B. Third floor, old supply closet near the stairs. Just like yours, if I recall—Jonathan hates the sunshine."

I took a note, then leaned over Strange's desk.

"Now one more thing, Hugo," I looked into his eyes. They held an amused yet clinical gaze, "Tockman. What did I do to Tockman?"

Strange smiled a toothy grin. "Oh. Crowley, you read the file, didn’t you?"

I did. In a section titled "Responses," it explained, Secondary was approached by a fight-response subject, who attacked her in the introduction. It explained Secondary, Carrion, responded identically to "previous tests." A violent reaction interrupted just before the dismemberment of the assailant.

"The 'formula'. Explain."

"A pet project, something Mr. Luthor provided the means and funding to conduct."

I furrowed my brows, recalling full well the kinds of "experiments" Mr. Luthor conducts.

"You're not suggesting--" my nose scrunched as I growled, "the hell were you doing to me?"

"Oh, it was voluntary—at least—Carrion didn’t mind. Dr. Crane also subjected himself to it."

"That's not an explanation," I huffed.

"Metahuman research."

"What? What does that have to do with anything?"

Strange chuckled. "You should hear it from Jonathan; he's why we chose you, after all."

I felt a bit staggered by that.

"H- He what?"

"He suggested you would be a perfect subject for experimentation, as your dissociative personality seemed to trigger only with the coaxing of a concentrated fear toxin. You were able to wander Arkham freely. Even treat patients. You were stable in both regards, even Carrion, despite her violent outbursts in the experimentation room." Hugo shrugged.

"Crane was enthralled by how his toxin affected you. He suggested trying to bridge the gap between Crowley and Carrion overtime via the fear toxin we pumped into your office."

"For?"

"Science, I suppose. "Research into the side-effects of FT on dissociative personalities," says Crane, "We were going to see if the same could be achieved with Mr. Dent, hence-"

"Why he became my patient," I murmured. I tilted my head. "But I'm still a bit of a unique case for a test like that."

"Oh, but it worked. We held up our side of Carrion's deal."

"I don't remember much of what Carrion did—or any of what she agreed to, for that matter."

"It'll come in time," Hugo tapped his watch, "think about it. What did you do to Tockman?"

I stood up again and pondered, remembering how Jervis described him and how the other critical patient on the gurney looked without a face, his fear of needles.

Then, like a vivid dream, I recalled a room with intense lighting. Tockman's frenzied gaze and his stature as he came towards me with a frothing mouth and bared claws—like an animal.

"He tried to kill me."

"Yes, yes, and?"

I thought hard about it, being pinned by the man.

I recalled a splash of black ink on the padded white walls.

"Black stuff."

Hugo snickered, "Yes, I suppose you can call it that."

"What did I do to him?"

"We haven't quite figured out how it works."

Then again, a vivid picture. Black spatters on the ivory floor.

Dripping black ooze poured from the mouth and eyes of my attacker. A lashing blackness seemed to live and squirm like an onyx amoeba as it overtook him. It delved back into his skin, making him pulse and swell like a marshmallow in a microwave. Then--

I remember the pain. It sent me to the ground, and a group of guards plucked the tattered Tockman from the room.

I lurched from the nightmare and gagged, falling to my knees and scrambling to catch anything that tried to erupt from my throat: "What the fuck did I do to him?"

"Crowley, don't you see how brilliant this is?"

"Brilliant?" I swallowed hard the bubbling bile. "I'm some kind of Lovecraftian abomination."

"Powerful," Hugo looked pleased, "superhuman."

"No, I never wanted powerful or superhuman." I stepped back and met my fingers on the door handle.

"You could save the world."

"The world is fine." I swallowed again, quelling my stomach. "The world will fix itself; it doesn't need me to save it."

I stared at Hugo as I pushed open the door. "I'm not one of the damn Rogues, Strange."

"No. No, you're not, Crowley." He smiled to himself as I slipped out and made headway toward Crane's office.

[crowley-in-arkham]

Smoke and mirrors, dogs and birds.

This place has a perverse love of unnecessary vagueness.

As I entered my office first thing this morning, the Asylum halls lit only by the buzzing white fluorescents as the sun hasn't even risen yet, Rook seemed--unusually perturbed.

"Good morning, Rook," I raised a brow at the boy, "You doin' okay?"

The kid's looked at me, a gaze well worth the chill it gave me. His blue eyes were dilated in a feverish sort of terror. He looked down the corridor, then up the corridor. His frantic gaze hesitating on me for but a moment as pushed open the door stating: "I gotta ask you something."

I tilted my head, thinking, the hell has him rattled?

I nodded and motioned him in, closing the door behind me.

His hands quaked as he plucked his phone from his pocket, flicking open his gallery and showing me a short video that was taken, seemingly, crouched behind an empty gurney.

"So, you're sayin you want me to change the concentration?" A familiar southern drawl purred, the camera focused on pretty salted auburn hair.

"Yes, just for this week, we'll compare it to previous tests," Another familiar voice stated, "Any new symptoms to the formula? We were concerned after what occurred with Tockman that you'd take like Carrion did."

The camera flicked to Strange, but only for a moment before ducking back down and focusing on the tails of labcoats.

"Mn, couple of migraines, an occasional itch in my id. Otherwise, it seems my antipsychotics keep me from, well," Crane stopped. The ticking of heels clamored through the hall, and Crane let out his charming, ominous chuckle. "Speak 'o the devil."

Then a softer, lowered tone purred through the corridor.

"Jon."

"Carrion."

"Good evening, Ms. Carrion."

"Evening, Dr. Strange." There was a short pause, then a curt, "How's the solution to my little problem coming along?"

"Are you willing to try a medication?" Strange offered, "It seems Dr. Crane here is experiencing less of a reaction to the-"

"Fix it." It said flatly.

Crane snickered, and sucked his teeth, "Ain't you a delight, darlin."

"I think you'd do best to stay in Crowley's care, Jonathan." The words dripped with resentment.

"No can do, hun," Crane teased, "Your turn to play with Dr. Crane, now."

"I'm sorry, was Diane not free?"

"Oh, bless your heart."

"Crane, Carrion, please."

The camera haphazardly zoomed out, and showed Strange's legs turn towards the woman's.

"How about you go downstairs? We'll join you shortly."

"I don't see what she sees in that man."

The heels crossed the hall, and the operator, Rook I presume, gasped, as the camera shot up to a familiar haphazard bun of raw chocolate colored hair.

Before the camera turned off, an amber eye met the camera line of site. She smirked, then looked away, stepping into the doorway to the stairwell.

The video stopped at my disappearing into the door.

My disappearing.

"Rook, what--"

He stared at me with an expression I couldn't quite infer as being either fear or hate.

"Crowley-- Carrion? I don't know what the hell this is, but you best explain now."

I stared at his trembling gaze at a loss.

"I can't-- not because I'm deliberately hiding this from you, but rather, I don't know."

"How the hell do you not know?" Rook stared at me, "that's you, isn't it?"

"I- yes but-- I don't remember this happening; I don't treat Crane like that! You know that!"

"Then why- what's going on downstairs?"

"I don't know, I can't tell you because I don't know."

"Why was Crane out of his cell?"

"I think-- smoke and mirrors," I sighed, "Edward said Crane was smoke and mirrors."

Rook paused; "Crowley, are you--"

"Fuck," I pinched the skin between my eyes. "Fucking- God damn it."

I stepped over to my desk and flipped through the stacks of patient files, looking at the personal notes that had appeared without my cognizant.

"If you don't know, you will," I echoed what Jon had told me to myself. "It was me. It's all me."

Rook looked more concerned than ever.

"I'm an experiment, I'm one of Dr. Crane's little pet projects. That explains so much."

"What do you mean, Crowley?"

"I mean, no self-respecting rehabilitation center would let a psychiatrist treat patients she knows."

I slapped down a file, "Harvey Dent. Harvey, Bruce, and I used to go out to breakfast, lunch, karaoke-- they thought I was 'good people', in Bruce’s terms.."

I slapped down another file, "Edward Nashton, or Nygma, was a coworker, a skilled lab expert with a knack for computer sleuthing and a unique flavor of deduction."

I laid down a third, "Jervis Tetch, I didn't know him intimately, but we knew one another in passing. Bruce introduced me to Tetch and the rest of his hardware development team while they were working the the project that ultimately bore Tetch's hats. The two of us got along well."

And finally, I flopped the last file.

"Jonathan Isaiah Crane." I flipped open the folder, "He was a professor. My professor. A good friend, too. I trusted him, and I admired him," I paused, staring down at the page remembering somberly the day; "I knew him as much as he would share, but still more intimately than most. You know his favorite pie is pecan? Got him some for his birthday one year. The last year, actually."

Rook stared at me, hearing the tightening of my throat, leaning over my desk: "Doc, I-"

I clenched my fists still staring down at the page, "He gassed me once. I was one of the Scarecrow's first real victims."

I muttered,"Outside of his experiments and petty qualms."

I felt this, angry all-encomassing destain rush over me, "You don't forget."

Rook took a step back, hearing the venom in my tone, "Crowley--"

"You don't forget what it's like, Rook." I hissed quietly, "To be afraid like that. He ripped that feeling open again. With a plume of orange gas, he pulled out of me something I hadn't felt since I was a child."

"Fear?"

"Real fear," I chuckled dryly, "I pretend I had a nice life, a kind one. A loving family, all my life. Nobody would know it, but that isn’t true. I could barely remember how it felt to be afraid to exist. I didn't forget it, I repressed it. I forgot because my brain couldn't bare to remember."

Rook gave me a concerned look. His terror from before, now, a different variety of petrified.

I continued, "Scarecrow reawoke that fear, undid those years of remedy. Sure, the threads were haphazard, but there were threads. His toxin cut through them like a hot knife through butter."

"Whatever the hell is going on downstairs is a terrible idea," I gripped Crane's file and remembered that ominously titled 'formula'.

"Jonathan Crane was never my patient. I was his."

I spun around, then opened the vacuum safe atop my filing cabinet. Rook watched as I nestled a black glistening gas mask into it's place over my face, tightening the straps around my head.

It felt like something was eating me alive as my body shook involuntarily. "I need to get out of this fucking gas, then--"

I grabbed my bag.

"I need to have a word with a few of Arkham Asylum's good doctors."

[crowley-in-arkham]

I believe a grim air hung over Arkham this morning. The leaves about Gotham are fading into a fire of red and amber hues, and the chill of autumn is drifting steadily into the air.

Edward was escorted into my office this morning, Rook, alone, walking him by the arm.

Squires never felt it necessary to lead Nygma, but Rook likes to think a friendly arm-in-arm is good for the inmates. The only one he doesn't lead this way is Crane.

When Edward stepped into my office, before the door even closed, he remarked: "Jesus Christ Crowley, you look like a corpse woke up."

Then asked: "Are you okay? Because you're certainly not thriving."

I sighed, and asked him to sit.

Truth was I haven't slept well as of late, and rather than nightmares I can only remember fractured dreams.

Now I'm having these bouts of lucidity and-- dreams that feel: abnormal.

Parts of the Asylum I've never been to take residence in my mind in the dead of night, I recall driving to and fro Arkham Island and Otisburg.

Most concerningly however: I recall ACS-016.

I never uploaded the document, since I felt uneasy after reading it. The project was titled, simply, "CARRION" or ACS-016-A and described a series of tests regarding the adrenal system of a single subject compared to a HC.

It describes the subject's normal interactions with others, some discrepancies, and an entire section labeled "Secondary."

However, these are depicted as preemptive tests, a control group that is compared to the later tests described in ACS-016-B which discusses the introduction of a neurotoxin labeled FT, easily inferrable as Fear Toxin. The file itself spans for about two years, but ACS-016-B begins only a few months ago.

Also in the folder are several other pages. One labeled "Secondary: Discrepancies," another "Secondary: Compromise" and a third, "Secondary: Awareness."

There's also a note in the far back of the folder in a tight, tall cursive. The title reads: "Relevant: Growing Awareness of Primary to Secondary."

I don't quite recall the contents of said note except in vagueness.

But, I haven't slept well since.

Edward caught onto that.

I couldn't tell him about the files, I didn't take them. They were labeled "Active" so I only read them.

I don't know why Crane pointed me towards them, I assume simply to scare me, as is his pleasure. It succeeded, I'm not usually very responsive to his ruses, but I'll admit, he's succeeded.

Edward knew I was being deliberately vague though, but didn't press.

He said, simply, "About Jon. I know you're fond of him, but, don't gloom like that. His transfer is only temporary, it's autumn in Gotham City, the man is a ticking time bomb."

"I know, but, I guess it just concerns me. Do you think he's really transferring?"

Edward looked at me with a small surprised expression, then let out a chuckle. "No, no I don't."

"Just coming out of my care then?"

"Not that either."

"Then?"

"Perhaps it's all smoke an mirrors."

"That Crane is leaving?"

"That Crane is here as we know at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm the Riddler, Crowley. You figure it out."

[crowley-in-arkham]

Whenever a tin of mixed nuts runs dry (and by runs dry I mean Crane has plucked out every nut that isn't a peanut) I give the remainder to Kraw. I'm convinced that's what Crane does anyway; as Kraw becomes visibly excited when a tin enters his line of sight.