#arkham shadow jonathon crane

[lime-oh-nade]

weird headcanon but I feel like he would listen to Nina Simone or Gary Numan do any of you guys get me

also WHO WROTE THAT LINE OF HIM CALLING HIMSELF A HANDSOME DEVIL I GOTTA FIND OUT BRO

[adhdnursegoat]

Arkham Shadows

cw: just fluff 😊

word count: 797

It is a crisp autumnal evening, and the forested grounds of your home are alive with the vibrant hues of fall. Leaves in shades of amber, gold, and crimson carpet the ground, creating a picturesque setting for a rather unusual activity for the good doctor: pumpkin carving.

Jonathon Crane, known more for his sinister schemes and fear-inducing antics, is surprisingly focused and meticulous as he sits cross-legged on a blanket spread over a pile of fallen leaves. Next to him, an assortment of pumpkins, ranging from small and lumpy to large and perfectly round, are set out, ready for their transformation into spooky lanterns.

You, sitting beside him, have your own pumpkin in your lap, its smooth, forgiving surface caressing your fingertips as you eviscerate it. The air is filled with the earthy aroma of spice and the crisp scent of autumn. Jon’s usual intensity is softened by the relaxed, festive atmosphere, and he seems almost at ease as he carefully wields a small, serrated knife.

“You know,” Jon begins, his voice lighter than usual, “I’ve always found something oddly therapeutic about carving pumpkins. It’s a good distraction from more… pressing matters.”

“It’s nice to take a break from the usual chaos.” You chuckle, scooping out the stringy insides of your pumpkin with a gleeful grin. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to carve pumpkins with The Scarecrow.”

Jon’s lips curl into a rare, genuine smile as he carefully carves an intricate design into his pumpkin. His movements are precise, almost artistic, as he brings his chosen pattern to life. The soft glow of the dusky sun highlights the concentration in his eyes, adding a touch of warmth to his usually cold demeanor. Right now, there are no shadows, no harsh lights to glint off his glasses. You see his glacial gaze unencumbered, and part of you has difficulty finding the Scarecrow within him.

As you carve away at your pumpkin, you can't resist sneaking glances at Jon's progress. His movements are precise, deliberate, as his knife makes delicate cuts in the thick orange flesh. Bit by bit, a spooky face begins to emerge—intricate and hauntingly detailed, yet somehow charming in its own way. You find yourself admiring his skill, but also the surprising gentleness in his touch. While Jon carves with the finesse of an artist, you, on the other hand, are viciously hacking at your own pumpkin, determined to make it scream.

After what feels like hours, both pumpkins are finally done, sitting side by side like quirky representations of their creators. Jon, ever the perfectionist, carefully places a candle inside his pumpkin and lights it. The flickering glow brings his creation to life, casting sharp, dancing shadows through the intricate cuts. The forest around you, now cloaked in the deepening twilight, takes on an almost mystical quality as the lanterns’ warm light mixes with the darkening sky.

You lift your own jack-o'-lantern, its jagged grin and crooked eyes practically bursting with chaotic energy. It's messy, a little wild, but undeniably cheerful. "What do you think?" you ask, holding it up proudly with a playful twirl. The pumpkin wobbles in your lap as you grin at Jon.

He glances at your creation, his lips quirking into an amused smile. “It’s… charming,” he says, a note of approval threading through his words. His usual stoic expression softens slightly, revealing a rare warmth. “Certainly more interesting than the usual, predictable designs.”

You laugh, setting your pumpkin down next to his. “Charming, huh? I’ll take it. I think yours is pretty impressive, too. It’s got that signature Jonathan Crane flair—subtle, but sinister.”

A soft chuckle escapes Jon’s lips, the sound low and genuine, a rare gift that makes you smile even wider. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it,” he replies, his voice tinged with humor.

When the last traces of daylight vanish, you light the candles inside the rest of the pumpkins. The soft, flickering light casts a playful glow, transforming the clearing into something almost enchanted. Shadows dance among the trees, and for a moment, it’s as if the world outside the circle of light no longer exists. The two of you sit side by side, basking in the peaceful, whimsical atmosphere created by your handiwork.

Jon breaks the silence, his voice quiet, almost reluctant to disturb the moment. “Thank you. It’s... nice to step away from the usual darkness for a while.”

You glance over at him, your heart warming at the rare vulnerability in his words. “Anytime, Jon,” you say softly, your smile full of understanding. “Sometimes we all need to carve out a little light in the darkness.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the lanterns’ flames flicker and dance, illuminating the forest around you.

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 16: Back To Life

8 years later

“As Gotham mourns the loss of our beloved white knight Harvey Dent, a new villain has come to town. And they’re calling her the Reaper. The past years' gruesome killings have been tied to her, though her motive remains unknown.”

The evening news echoes through my dark apartment. The only light comes from the faint TV screen and the few candles scattered around. 

“The Reaper. Hm. Has a nice ring to it,” I think out loud as I tug my shirt sleeves over my arms.

Meanwhile Selina’s made herself comfortable on the couch, stretching like, well, a cat.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well. If you’re caught they’ll throw you back into Arkham.”

I shrug and continue sharpening my knives. “So I won’t get caught. Or I’ll die first.” 

What time is it? Almost midnight. I suppose I should retire early to catch up on sleep. Each day I scope out a new target, only to send their souls to God the following evening. Being a vigilante definitely takes a toll on one’s sleep schedule.

Selina gets the unspoken message and gets up to creep over to the window. 

“Have you told anyone else about your new look?”

The reminder of my new disguise makes me smirk. “No. Only you know who the Reaper truly is.”

“Do you think Batman will catch you?” she asks before climbing outside.

“We’ll see.”

Batman is the last of my worries. He’s been dormant for years. Hell, he’d be a blessing compared to the living nightmare that fear doctor put me through. It took weeks to teach myself against the fear to stop waking up in a cold sweat, dreading the thought of him creeping around in the shadows. After that dreadful night I have a new fear to label. Philophobia.

Can’t say I’m surprised. Mom and dad never allowed love into my life so it makes sense that I stray from it. But to fear it completely? That fear toxin must have emphasized it. If my mind wasn’t broken already it surely is now. The news’ interpretation proves it.

Dr. Crane is smart enough to stay away. Anyone who watches the news knows I’m not afraid of slitting throats when necessary. The lingering question in my mind is did he really regret giving me that dose? Before I blacked out he seemed apologetic, almost like he was sorry. Could that mean…?

No. No no no. I’ve come too far. If love is something I’m supposed to fear and hate then so be it. Since Batman’s been gone the crime rate has spiked ridiculously high, which means more victims for me.

“See you tomorrow, Selina. Good luck with-”

She’s gone. So much for goodbye. My allies are far from what normals would consider friends but anyone helps. In one way or another.

I let out a deep sigh and collect my knives to set them individually into their case. Settling down on my silk sheets, the promise of sleep sounds too good to be true.

General POV

Dr. Prentiss is not the only one who’s been thinking about Dr. Crane. Once word got around of his attempts of drugging her, Ivy and Nigma never stopped searching for the madman. Their threats are enough to keep him at bay but he was bound to slip up soon. Tonight is that night. A sloppy robbery from a drugstore gave Ivy the intel to track him to his lab.

“He’s in there?” Harley points at the subway entrance with her popgun.

“He’s in there,” Ivy repeats with venom in her tone. “Remember. Talk first, punish later.”

They descend into the dreary tunnels. It doesn't take a genius to spot the footprints on the dusty cement. They lead to a single door hidden away next to the tracks.

Harley sprints up to the door, busting it open and cartwheeling inside. “Crane! You in here? Johnny boy! Where are-?”

“Uh-oh.”

Isley’s voice draws attention to the back of the office. Walking closer, one can see the faint marks of fingernail scratches along the wall. All light is extinguished save one single flood light shining down on a medical chair. On this chair a body is draped across. Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Harley slowly leans in to examine the doctor’s limp form. “Did he go too far?”

His eyes are open but show no sign of recognition. His vitals show signs of life but he does nothing to address his surprise visitors. Ivy snaps her fingers to get a response but he remains still, muttering undecipherable sentences. His glasses lie forgotten on the cold floor.

“I don’t know if it’s drug-induced or if it’s his own trauma. He’s in pretty deep.” She shakes him and he continues murmuring nonsense. 

“Someone needs to get him out,” Harley points out, concerned for the familiar Arkham doctor.

Deep down the botanist knows she’s right. Crane’s a maniac and a despicable monster to prey on Callie, but this… This isn’t him. Perhaps this thing is the monster behind Crane’s madness. What he fears most.

“You’re right. Time to make a call.”

Ivy walks back to Crane’s desk and begins dialing his phone.

“Callie?”

“Callie.”

Calico’s POV

Ring ring!

Sleep really is too good to be true. Even my phone doesn’t want me to be at peace.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.” I pull my slumped figure out of bed and trudge to the ringing device. “Hello?”

“Callie, it’s Ivy. There’s a bit of a situation.”

Just my luck. “How does it concern me?”

“I know it’s late, and I know that you’ve been occupied-”

I’m getting impatient. “Ivy. What is it?”

Silence ticks by. I can hear her breathing on the other end. “Callie… Dr. Crane had an incident.”

Everything jumps. My eyes flash, my pulse races. Just the mention of that man fills me with both rage and intrigue.

“Why me?” I mutter darkly. “Why call me, Ivy?”

More silence. “Because you’re the only one who can save his life.”

I’m going to hate myself after this. All this fuss of plotting and killing for justice, and yet I still come crawling back to my old morals. I guess my good deed for the week will be helping Crane out of whatever dark place he’s crawled into. Mental or otherwise.

I check the address Ivy gave me. He’s certainly gone down hill. Rumor has it that a fire led to the destruction of his lab near the docks so now he’s made camp here. Beneath the city next to the subway tracks. Stuffy, musty. Full of webs. One might mistake it for a mausoleum. A tomb.

Can’t say that the place hasn’t caught my interest. But the idea of helping this man sends shivers down my spine. I harness my courage and make my way down into the inky darkness. Up ahead a flood light beacons me closer. Into an office of sorts. Now I can see Ivy and Harley waiting for me.

“I’m here.”

Both women keep quiet. Their only form of greeting is Harley pointing at a nearby chair. One with a body in it. Dr. Crane. He does not look well.

“What happened?” I ask as I examine his limp form. He’s awake, but not aware of us.

“Found him passed out in the chair,” Ivy explains. “Don’t know how long he’s been out. Or if he’ll ever wake up.”

Harley nods repeatedly. “Vitals are helter-skelter. He needs morphine.”

Morphine? Oh please. A little pain can go a long way.

“Crane! Snap out of it!” I give a quick slap to his face. He remains still but now his glazed eyes are fixed on me.

“Scarecrow…” he murmurs, his voice laced with fear.

Harley gasps. “Look! He recognizes you! Try something!”

Deep breath, Prentiss. It’s time to rechannel your therapist mode. God, it’s been a while.

I adapt a calm tone and reach out with both hands to gently touch his pale face. “Jonathan. Look at me, Jonathan. You need to come back now. Can you hear me?” He gives a slow nod. “Good. Follow my voice.”

His eyes never stray from my face. “H-Hello?”

“Hello, Jonathan. Can you see me now?”

Now his eyes are beginning to clear, searching my face. His body is also coming back to life.

“Calico?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

Dr. Crane lets out a relieved sigh and his eyes finally close, his body leaning back to rest in the chair. I guess my soft side is not completely useless after all.

“He’s back, just unconscious.” I look around and decide that it’s best to not try to move him. “He needs to rest. I’ll keep him here.”

Harley understands right away and starts walking out but Ivy’s still perplexed.

“How did you do that?”

I set aside my knapsack and begin setting out the few weapons and medical supplies I’ve brought. “I’ve witnessed first hand what his toxin does. You need a strong will or an outside voice to get out.”

She hums. “Crane must really trust you. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

I give her a small smile. “I’ve seen worse. He’ll be fine.”

Ivy nods and follows Harley back out into the tunnels. Now that I’m alone I can get a better look at the surroundings I’m dealing with. A single desk, a cot, a table crowded with chemistry equipment, and lots of scattered papers. One that catches my eye is a scrap of paper that contains familiar handwriting. Not Crane’s, no. It’s Nigma’s. One of his riddles. A familiar one.

I’m not a flower, but I bloom in the heart.

In many stories, I play a part.

I can make you cry, or make you smile,

Through hate or sadness I reconcile.

The answer is love. Wait. Love? That’s out of the question. Dr. Crane does not love. If this is Nigma’s idea of a joke he hit the target spot-on. 

It’s a good thing I wore appropriate attire: a black scrubs uniform with long sleeves. I can attend to my new patient accordingly. He looks almost… innocent. No scowl, no taunting smirk. After all these years he’s kept his stunning good looks, but still picked up a few worry lines on his brow. How has it been so long?

For now I guess he can sleep in the chair. The patient himself sleeps for a solid hour before he starts to stir. He tries to scramble up but fails miserably, crashing back into the chair.

“Thank God you’re awake,” I drone as he rubs his head. “I was afraid my life was going to get boring with you sleeping all the time.”

No response. Is he still confused-? What the heck is he staring at? Crane’s scanning me up and down like I’m a mirage.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

A smirk grows on his face. “Because the image of you in scrubs carrying a syringe is turning me on far more than what any lingerie would do.”

Still the same cheeky bastard.

“Flattering,” I joke in a monotone voice. “Would you prefer I take your vitals as well to heighten the mood?”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious or just playing along,” Dr. Crane chuckles and sits up straighter, getting a feel of his bearings. 

“Care to tell me why Ivy had to wake me up in the middle of the night to come save you?” I ask as I feel for his pulse.

“Ha. You having to save me…” he laughs and puts his glasses back on.

He’s still hiding it. But I’m not going to let it go this time.

“Jonathon.” I’m still testing his first name. He seems new to it too. “You were almost gone.”

There’s a deeper meaning behind my simple words. We both know it. As hard as it was for him to admit why he saved me from Nigma’s trap, it’s been an even more troubling challenge for me to come to terms with my feelings for him. 

He drugged you. Yes. You prove to himself that he didn’t care. But then he gave me the antidote. He kept a distance… from the blade of my knife.

I sit down in the swivel chair next to him. Crane takes a deep breath and slowly lifts his head to look at me.

“A scarecrow. That’s all I could see. Staring up at those flaming yellow eyes…”

Just like my own hallucination. “Your father’s obsession with fear drove you to this. It’s not your fault.”

Those unblinking blue eyes stare straight through me. Did I strike a nerve?

“I thought conquering fear would benefit Gotham… I still do.”

“Is that why you tested on yourself?” I ask softly.

He bites his tongue. “Not just that, but… yes.”

I slowly inch my hand over to his. Not grabbing it, just ghosting near enough so he can decide. He takes it. His pale hand, unsurprisingly, is ice cold.

“If we continue to improve medical technology to avoid death, then the stress and anxiety it causes will just lead to a longer, less enjoyable life. We are unintentionally taught that death is seen as an unavoidable impending doom that is uncertain and frightful rather than a spiritually enlightening experience.”

“Here we go, another death lecture,” Crane pokes lightly. But he is still intrigued.

“I think that healthcare advancements that influence pain relief are a big part in creating a better quality of life, however I feel that we should still discuss death as an eventual thing and not as something that could be avoided through massive medical achievements. Some people have a determined mindset that medicine can prevent death, and this should be discussed thoroughly in order to delete false hope.”

Crane squeezes my hand and I turn to meet his eyes again. “That is why I use the improvements in medicine to help others embrace their fear. If they can’t handle it, that helps thin the herd.”

Thin the herd. Almost sounds like my own plan for Gotham. Only I determine my targets through their sins, not their fears.

A flash of pink catches my eye. Near the desk. Is that? No, it can’t…

“You kept my rose,” I whisper in disbelief.

Crane sees where I’m looking. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Such a small gesture, yet one that speaks volumes to me. One that almost reminds me of how innocent I was back then.

“I can’t believe you still have it. It was just a therapy exercise.”

“I thought it was more than that, Calico.” My name. “You gave it to me. Not Isley, not Nigma. Me.” 

Thump thump thump. It’s happening all over again. Only this time instead of facing a hallucination, it’s real. Pull it together, Prentiss! You’re a pair of twisted minds! Neither of us can have- whatever this is.

“Do you find that off-putting?” I hear Crane ask after I freeze up.

“N-No. I… I just didn’t take you for a sentimental man.”

I finally get my thoughts together and stand up to move away. I grab my knapsack and stuff my knives back inside. I did what was right and helped him, now it’s time to go. No more feelings, no more problems.

Crane sees me packing and catches on. “Leaving, are we?”

“Yes.”

He stands up, still shaking slightly, and faces me with unreadable eyes. “So you only came here for your peace of mind?”

“Yes,” I answer in the same tone and grab my bag. I’m almost to the door-

“And I thought I was the cruel one.”

Um, ouch? What more does he want? I just helped give him sanity and he wants me to stay to chat and babysit? Still… Underneath the even tone he used there’s something else. Years ago I might have obliged him. But I’m not that soft now. I can’t trust anymore.

“Time in Gotham changes a person,” I answer softly.

“So I’ve heard.” He pauses for a moment. “What do you think of this new Reaper?”

Does he know? Does he know it’s me? He can’t.

“I think she has the right idea,” I reply evenly and continue walking back into the gloomy tunnels. “Good night, Dr. Crane.”

[lime-oh-nade]

Uh, okay, anyways lol

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 5: Relations and Reminisce

“And you said yes?!”

“For the tenth time Ivy, yes.”

“I can’t believe it.” She throws her arms up dramatically. “I thought you were smart. How could you throw away any chance of escape for group therapy?”

I just spent the night in a black hole. Literally all light is gone from my isolated cell except for a tiny floodlight that only projects more spooky shadows on the gloomy walls. I don’t mind some free time to myself but it’s an overabundance I could do without. But today is my first day with Crane’s “experiments” and I hope they will distract me from the dreary lonesome.

“I applaud Calico for her bravery,” Nigma looks up from the crossword puzzle he’s working on. “Crane’s a hard nut to crack but I think she can handle him.”

“But she’s new to Arkham. Callie’s fresh meat for Crane.”

“Guys, guys.” I hold up my hands. “I’ve handled lunatics each day for three years.”

“Yeah, but this is Dr. Crane. The Scarecrow. You’ll never sleep again after he gets through with you.”

“Sleepless nights are a fear of childhood, Nigma. If anything I’m ready to embrace death come what may.”

The pair look at me as if I just announced that all the kittens in the world died. They’re supposed to be the lunatics but they look at me as if I’m just as mad as any other inmate.

“What? I’m well aware of universality. Death is unavoidable to every living thing at every moment of its life.”

Ivy and Nigma don’t appear to have a response and the room stays quiet, that is until slow clapping breaks the silence.

“Quite philosophical, Dr. Prentiss. Perhaps that can be extended further during your testing today.”

Dr. Crane’s voice pierces my thoughts with a chilly imagination. All morning I’ve been worrying about what tests he has planned. Strap me to a chair? Hang me upside-down? And what type of toxin? Air-based? Water-borne?

Ivy senses my discomfort and steps in front to block him. “You’ve stooped low, Crane. Testing on an innocent woman? You’ve got some nerve.” She flicks a few specks of pollen on him and I see Crane’s eyes go wide. “Just watch it. If she dies I may just have to cause a breakout and show them the basement.”

Basement? I know Arkham has a basement but what's so significant about-?

“And I can make sure your babies get tossed in the next compost bin,” Crane replies harshly and grabs my arm to pull me away before Ivy can scratch his eyes out while Nigma just laughs. “How can you even stand to talk to that enviro-mental-whacko?”

“Just because your toxin doesn’t work on her doesn’t give you a reason to be cross,” I answer calmly as we head into the cold, dark hallway. “At least she gives me the time of day, unlike my previous co-workers.”

We enter further into the maze of abandoned hallways and come across what appears to be a room that was used for an operating theater. Although he has no audience I shudder to think of what Crane’s prepared to show off. 

“Step up, please.” Crane gestures to the platform at the center of the room. One with restraints.

“Are you going to-?”

“Yes,” he replies. He knows what I’m thinking. “They will help protect you from hurting yourself. I’ve seen unrestrained patients carry out extreme measures, some including pulling their eyes out or running into the wall.”

I follow his instructions and lean up against the cold concrete. When I look over I see he’s preparing multiple syringes on the table.

“Just how many toxin variations do you have?” I ask with a hint of nervousness.

“Variety brings results. Right now I’m hoping to find a special dose to give to the lunatic who’s been interrupting my associates’ plans.”

The talk of Batman has only grown in the past few days I’ve been here and I can’t say I’m not curious. Rumors say he’s doing the police’s job and actually cleaning out the city’s criminals.

“He’s got you worried,” I say almost tauntingly as the doctor attaches my wrists to the straps.

“Don’t start,” Crane warns. “Soon he will seek out the drugs I’ve hidden and then I will give him an introduction he’ll never forget.” His crystal eyes drift over to face me directly. “I thought you were interested in the science of fear, Dr. Prentiss.”

“Unlike you I’m a psychiatrist with morals. One who doesn’t test toxins on patients. Get back to me when you’re not trying to kill the only justice in this world.”

He hums in response and returns to tightening the straps around my legs. “So you’re on the Batman’s side?”

“I’m on the side of justice, one you are very unfamiliar with. And by the way my interest is focused on death and the fear that revolves around it.”

Crane gets up and walks over to grab the first syringe with child-like giddiness. “We’ll start with one dose so it can filter out of your bloodstream. Then after the antidote kicks in we’ll go onto the next. I’ll administer this one through your brachial artery. Please inform me of any side effects immediately.”

I flinch as the needle pricks my arm and I feel the toxin surge into my blood. While I wait for whatever horrors this will bring, Crane watches with glee as if watching a magic act. There’s no rapid heartbeat or intense breathing like last time. There’s actually less- Oh.

“How do you feel?” Crane asks when he sees my eyes widen.

“I can’t. My feet have gone numb.”

He jots some notes down on some scrap paper and hurries back to administer the antidote. Instantly a cold sensation jolts through me and I can feel my feet again.”

“Do you make one for every dose?”

“Absolutely. In my years of research a way to reverse accidents is always useful.” He waits a few more seconds and decides the antidote has done its job. He holds up another syringe and pierces the needle into my other arm.

“What about now?”

After a few seconds I start to get dizzy. Is my skin supposed to get this hot? And why is it isolated?

“My waist feels warm.”

The doctor’s eyes lift up from his notes and take in my confused expression. “Interesting. Do you know what’s happening?”

“I’m getting a fever?”

Crane smirks and points to my eyes. “Let’s say that your dilated pupils tell enough.”

Does he mean what I think he means? The kind of repulsive side effects that make people’s minds melt into obeying, brainwashed zombies. 

“Are you saying I’m…?” I ask, disgusted.

Crane’s surprised smile says enough. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve never had-?”

“Do not use that word,” I snap and exhale. “No, Dr. Crane. I have not had urges.”

“Fascinating,” he observes as he looks over my pathetic state with wide eyes.

My eyes narrow. “How so?”

“I imagined a woman like you would have been through something by now but then you stated in your profile you are a virgin. Is this perhaps caused by philophobia? Genophobia, maybe?”

His guessing misses its target each time. He really doesn’t know. If it weren’t for the annoying dampness below this would actually be fun. 

“It’s just bugging you, isn’t it? The infamous Scarecrow can’t figure out my fear?”

The cunning doctor leans in with an amused smirk, his lips almost pressing against my ear. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

I can handle death. I can handle fear to some extent. But this? This is an all-new emotion I want to burn and bury in the depths of forgotten embarrassments. Just because I can’t control my own biological response doesn’t mean I can’t keep a clear head. Time to end this twisted game.

“I’ll spare you the trouble. Atychiphobia.”

Crane nods with a look that says he won. “Ah. The fear of failure. I should have expected that. Am I going to receive an explanation to go along with this?”

Fear of failure is a peculiar phobia. No matter how hard I try it always seems to make me second-guess everything. People praise me for my accomplishments at the same time I hate myself for not being perfect.

Now the effects of the failed toxin are replaced by a furrowed brow and clenched fists. Crane must think he’s struck the motherlode-

“It’s ok to be upset.”

That’s him? Did someone just replace Dr. Crane with a real therapist? He puts a hand on my still-shaking shoulder and for some reason part of my rage melts away. My mind can’t decide if I’m angry or depressed.

“I never had a ‘normal’ childhood since my parents sent me to prep school. They always wanted me to be the best at everything. Any time I did less than perfect they would shame me.” I scoff and look to the floor. “My father would yell while my mother ranted about how I disgrace the family name.”

“You obviously come from money,” Crane observes softly.

I shrug, still eyeing the cement floor. “It’s no big secret, really. If you do enough digging you’ll probably find news articles of me in high school winning the Metropolis Genius award with comments from my father about how ‘there’s always room for improvement.’ Money means nothing when it comes to love. Flaunting my parents’ riches never gained me anything but a spot in Metropolis University.”

The doctor nods again, almost appearing empathetic. "I think that's enough experiments for today."

I expect him to write more notes but he never does.

“Aren’t you going to write about how sad my childhood was?” I mock darkly. “Just another excuse to keep me locked up as a ‘crazed inmate.’”

But he just shakes his head. “I know a thing or two about family issues. We’ll keep this off the books, shall we?” 

This is the same person who sprayed me with fear gas?

“How did they die?”

There we are. Right back to picking apart my diagnosis.

My eyes narrow. “You know how. Anyone who watches the news knows.”

“It might be better if you say it-”

“They were killed, ok?” I burst, surprising both Jonathon and myself. “Another statistic to the growing number of casualties in Gotham. Some psychos blew up a bridge and they just happened to be driving on it.”

By now I’m shaking both from the last few effects left from the toxin and the emotional imbalance whirling inside me. If it weren’t for the straps still securing me to the wall  I would be bent over in tears. And that’s what happens when I feel Crane release my limbs from the restraints. My knees buckle and I go forward- But instead of ending up sprawled on the ground Crane catches me. I look up and want to yell at him for getting so close but my mind’s too full to speak, distraught with old memories and broken regrets.

“I can see now why you don’t fear death,” Crane whispers.

“The experience of death becomes more familiar the more you are exposed to it. A death of a family member or a close friend could impact how one sees death. Another instance could be a near-death experience such as a heart attack or car crash, causing possible trauma and a different view of death.” I take a shaky breath. “After my parents died, death became everything to me. I believe that if I walk the line of embracing death then I won’t be scared to do anything.”

Slowly, Crane walks me over to a chair and we both sit down. I’m not shaking so much now and I can actually think. “Maybe part of the reason I left Metropolis is to get a fresh start. Though this isn’t exactly the prime scenario.” I gesture to the dull operating theater.

Crane lets out what I think is an actual laugh. No mockery or sarcastic intention at all. “But you have to admit this is far more exciting. You need to loosen up, Dr. Prentiss.”

“And I suppose the man who dresses up in a burlap mask knows all about stress relief?” I arch a brow. “You don’t strike me as someone who goes clubbing.”

“You don’t seem the type either. Am I right?”

I give an annoyed grunt. “Yes. Social drinking is incredibly overrated and only results in bad decisions and depleted brain cells.”

“Speaking of brain cells-” Dr. Crane pulls out what looks like a mini calendar out of his pocket. “I’m scheduling you for both an MRI and a CT scan to make sure there’s no damage to yours.”

He gathers up his things and gestures for me to exit the theater. 

“All for me?” I gush dramatically as we head back to my ‘private cell.’ “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

Before Crane closes the door he looks through the gate with what appears to be legit concern. “Can’t have a prime mind like yours going to waste, can I?”

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 9: Separate Ways

“Bat! Giant bat!”

“Monster!”

All around me I see the effects of Dr. Crane’s catastrophic plan emerge into a feeding frenzy. The gun is still in my hand; I’m not sure to think of that as a comfort or pleading temptation. No. Only as self-defense. Just because I’m guilty of justifiable homicide does not mean sporadic killing is called for. So instead I head to where opportunity lurks best- in the shadows. 

No one bats an eye to a calm, collected woman in a prisoner’s uniform. All the terrified citizens scream in fear as they point to the winged figure in the sky. Is that really Batman? I’d be lying if I thought seeing the masked vigilante for the first time was not accelerating. The cops are useless. It’s refreshing to see someone finally taking action.

“Callie! Hon, what are you doing here?”

Is that-? Oh!

“Hey, Ivy.” I hold out a hand in greeting to the green botanist. “I see you also took advantage of the prison riot. Is Nigma out too?”

She rolls her eyes and points to the bridge. “He jump-started a car and sped off.”

“He just left you here?”

Ivy chuckles. “I don’t need help, hon. I’m on my way to the abandoned Gotham Nursery. Care to join me? It’ll be fun!”

The idea of vacationing in a greenhouse doesn’t exactly sound as enticing as Ivy spells it. I just got out of Arkham. I can’t just run and hide while all this corruption is poisoning Gotham!

“Sorry, Ivy. But I have work to do.”

She takes in my words and seems to understand. “If that’s what you think is best.” Ivy squeezes my hand. “You’re sure you’re alright? Crane’s treatment hasn’t shaken you up too much? I mean, how have you not gone crazy yet?”

I… I have no idea. “Maybe… I’m already insane. Who defines sanity, Ivy? I just had to shoot someone. I’m not the same person now. Maybe I am crazy… But I’m still me, I think. Or at least part of me. What I do know is that one way or another I’m going to get back at those bastards that put me in here.”

Ivy nods. “Be careful, Callie. Stay in touch.”

With that she walks off to a nearby cop car, no doubt to seduce an officer to let her escape. Now I need to figure out where I should go. 

“Ahhhhh!”

No. That’s not just random screaming. It’s Crane. 

“Ahhhh!” The doctor screams in pain and now I see the horse trot through the fog.

Why is he limp? He’s only been gone for almost an hour and he already needs help. I did tell him not to go. It’s his problem. I need to get out… 

“Ugh,” I sigh deeply and look back at the horse, where Crane is barely conscious. Why do I still feel compelled to help? Because I still care. As much as I hate myself for it there’s still a sliver of empathy for the fear doctor. 

“Alright, fine. Come here girl.” I slowly approach the tense horse and stroke her nose to calm her down. “You’re going to take me to freedom.”

As gently as possible I mount the horse behind Dr. Crane. He’s still wearing that ridiculous mask. While trying to keep him from falling I grip the reins and urge the horse towards the bridge. Fear-ridden riots scream and crowd around us but thankfully the horse doesn’t spook. Now I see- Uh-oh. They’re going to raise the bridge! Warning lights flash as the police clear the area and begin the process.

“Please let this work!”

I nudge the horse with my feet and send her into a gallop. Closer… closer! Almost there-!

“Dear Jesus!” I cry as we miss falling into the churning water by a hair. 

The cops on the other side scatter like mice as the horse takes me into the dark streets of Gotham. I’ve gotten past this road block, now I just need to avoid the rest of the police. My mind flashes through a million different options. I’ll have to find a new job, a new apartment… But all of that can wait until I’ve dealt with the sleeping psychiatrist on my lap.

Right. Let’s go somewhere no one will look for two inmates: the morgue. Thankfully before I came to Gotham I was instructed about the city’s medical facilities, which included where most of the crime victims find new homes. Where the dead are kept. It’s far after hours and the dark windows that greet me when I steer the horse into the empty parking lot offer a strange sense of relief. For now I have a place to get a plan together.

“Crane, can you hear me?” I ask. The limp body merely slumps over and I see Dr. Crane’s eyes start to show he’s awake.  “I’m going to get you a wheelchair and then take you inside. I’ll be right back.”

Crane slouches against the horse and I slide off. With a little luck- Yes! Someone left a window open! And it’s just big enough to squeeze through. I grip the flagpole and inch up to the mode of entry. Just barely… I can reach it! I swing over and slip into the dark building. Obviously there are security cameras but I’m already a runaway prisoner. No use hiding my face. 

I sprint downstairs to the main floor and grab a wheelchair from the lobby; pushing the doors wide open and quickly sliding Crane off the horse into it. I give the noble horse a pat and send her off into the streets. Crane’s low weight makes it much easier to push him through the hall. We get to the back laboratory and I lock the door behind me. We have an hour at most until an alarm goes off. Time to wake him up.

“Dr. Crane, wake up,” I say bluntly and shake his shoulder. He doesn’t stir. “Crane! Up and at ‘em!”

He jolts from his sleep and in surprise nearly falls out of the chair. His eyes try to scan the dimly-lit room while also trying to stand- though failing miserably.

“Where the Hell-?” His frantic eyes flash to where I’m standing. “Dr. Prentiss? What- Where- How-?”

“Whoa whoa, calm down motormouth. You’re safe, for now. Mind telling me what happened so I know what to treat you for?”

Crane doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps staring at me. Not always directly, though. Almost as if he’s seeing into another reality. Or maybe it’s just the drugs he’s been on this week.  Eventually he looks down at his chest and feels through the tan poncho covering him.  

“I was… tasered. By Ms. Dawes,” he mumbles.

I stifle a laugh. “T- Tasered? The Scarecrow was taken down by a taser? Someone should have gotten that on tape!”

He glares through the burlap mask and I snatch it off to see his annoyed frown. “You try getting tasered, Dr. Prentiss! Try to walk after that! I guarantee it’s not as pleasant as you think-!”

Suddenly his eyes go feral and Crane cuts himself off to stare at the corner. Has he totally gone off the deep end or is-? Ah. I see. He must have breathed in some toxin earlier. Like me he must be building a tolerance but can still see things. 

I kneel down next to him and lean in. “What do you see?”

Crane hastily attempts to remask his boldness but the damage is done. His wide eyes do little to convince me. “Hm?”

My eyes narrow with slight delight and mockery. “What do you see when it’s your turn to face fear? What is it that keeps Dr. Crane up at night?”

He bares his teeth and grips the chair’s arms. “If I wasn’t still recovering I would seriously consider giving you another dose of toxin!”

His words slide off me like water on oil. Still not too bonkers to crack, I see. The idea of knowing the Scarecrow’s fear still itches at my brain but that will have to wait. In terms of good spirits I pass him his glasses, which he stiffly yanks out of my hand. “Smart, Dr. Crane. You remember that the threat of dying will not provoke me.”

Crane scoffs. “No joke. Your idea of using a morgue as a hideout says enough about that. Have a taste for the dead, Dr. Prentiss?”

I shrug and pull out a scalpel. “You could say that. Before majoring in psychology I thought of becoming a mortician. My own death anxiety is very low so the job seemed tempting. In this society today younger people see growing old as a bad thing, that it degenerates your health and limits your daily life. Staying young and young-looking is encouraged by ads and social media, while looking aged is more frowned at. However in other social groups, such as native tribes, growing old and becoming an elder is a position of honor and respect. For whatever reason we chose to think it’s bad. After my parents died I discovered that if one is at peace with their current life and stays connected to that inner peace throughout their life, then growing old and dying will come as less of a fearful experience.”

Throughout my small lecture Crane never interrupts, all the while regarding me with an introspective expression.

“If you are so passionate about death, why major in something that leans against it?”

I twirl the scalpel in my hand. “Too many… regulations. I did not wish to waste nearly a decade in a school that was going to lecture me about rules that are constantly changing, constantly making my job… harder.” 

He knows I’m holding back. We both know I’m not saying everything. But he doesn’t pry further. By now he’s fully standing and leaning against the counter for support.

“Now for the million-dollar question, Dr. Prentiss: Why did you bring me here? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen into a case of Stockholm syndrome-”

“Let me stop you right there.” I hold up a hand to cut him off. “Remember our agreement. We get each other out, we go our separate ways. My conscience is clear, nothing can guilt-trip me into helping you anymore. I may be a killer but I’m still capable of feelings. I got you out, Crane. Now I will leave you to whatever chaotic agenda you have planned.”

He tilts his head and walks over with somewhat stable legs. “Is that all?”

I fight the urge to bite my lip (my nervous tick) and decide to give the best-explained answer for my actions.

“I told you that you helped me grieve. But you did more than that. You never took advantage of me. You had me drugged and delirious and could have done anything to me. But you never did.”

The doctor keeps a straight and serious face. “I respect my patients’ personal space, Dr. Prentiss. All those perverted doctors who abuse their patients are on a whole new level of sickness. I do my experiments purly to inspire fear, not for my own amusement. To paraphrase your words, I may be insane but I’m still capable of… feelings, If that’s what you call it. I’m just not as soft as you are.”

At the same time I want to roll my eyes and beam in admiration. “Well… Thanks, anyway. I’ll leave you to your freedom then. Here, you’ll need this.”

When I hold up Crane’s mask to him he gives me a skeptical look before taking it; almost as if I’m allowing my permission for his shenanigans. We both walk back through the lobby and into the parking lot. Sirens ring throughout the cold night and I see more of the toxic mist drifting through the city; though Ra’s al Ghul’s plan seems to be apprehended because the mist is fading away. I’ll hear about it on the news tomorrow.

Dr. Crane and I continue to stand and stare into the night; avoiding each other’s glance, each calculating our next move.

“Will you stay in Gotham?” Crane asks after a while.

I sigh deeply and nod. “We both know why.”

“Very well.” He gives me a stiff mat on my back. “Best of luck, Dr. Prentiss.”

I don’t stop staring at the buildings ahead of me until I know he’s long gone, disappeared into the city to spread fear once again. Have I helped out a complicated acquaintance or aided in perhaps releasing another monster into Gotham’s streets? The other tugging question is if I will see him again.

Who knows. My priorities lie with smoking out the corruption in this city anyway. Now that I have been given a new chance I can’t take it for granted. In order to learn and infiltrate this city’s political and economic criminals, I must become one of them.

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 20: Is This Love?

Well, here it is. The Rapture is upon us, and today proves it.

Turns out the League of Shadows did come to Gotham. I know because the store window TV is showing them robbing the Gotham Stock Exchange earlier today. Their leader’s wearing a complicated mask that muffles his voice. I think his name is Bane? 

“Hey! Get back here!”

Oh. Right. 

I take off running past the shops and bolt towards the maze of alleys. For the past week I’ve had some complications with law enforcement. John Blake, a rookie cop, got suspicious when he looked at my Arkham file and has been asking too many questions for my taste.

Normally I’d take it easy. But right now being the Reaper won’t exactly be a normal interview. I wasn’t planning to kill tonight. I was just scouting around! I’m… taking a break, if you will. I don’t have to kill every night. Or maybe it’s just the guilt catching up with me.

“Stop in the name of the law!” Blake shouts. 

There is no law in Gotham. He chases me further between the stone buildings and before I know it I’ve hit a dead end. I guess I’ll have to fight my way out. Too bad. I was starting to like Blake. He’s tolerably handsome, for a cop.

“You had your chance,” I mutter and lean against the wall, waiting for him to catch up. 

His footsteps get closer and closer and soon Blake runs around the corner, only for me to trip him. I kick away his gun and take out my whip. It won’t kill him but it won’t tickle either.

Crack!

Blake flinches and backs up against the wall. I don’t want to fight law enforcement but I’m not letting him take me in. I- Oh no. Blake found his gun!

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” he orders and aims the weapon.

“Leave her to me.”

We both jump back in surprise. There, in the shadows, is the dark knight himself. Batman. So he is back. Selina was right. This is my first time seeing him up close. He’s taller than I expected but something about his mask is somewhat comical rather than scary. Or maybe I’m used to seeing strange masks after all this time. God. I’m not skilled enough to take on Batman. 

Blake seems annoyed too. “I can handle her.”

“Leave.”

The cop doesn’t argue twice. He lowers his gun and walks back to the street, but not before giving me one last glare. With that he leaves me with the caped crusader. Calm down, Prentiss. Maybe I can talk my way out of this.

“Ah, hello Batman. I anticipated you would find me eventually. Pleased to finally meet you.”

Batman doesn’t share my friendly greeting. “You need to stop. It's no question why you’re called The Reaper. Killing people won’t solve anything.”

“Au contraire, Dark Knight. It’s helped many people. Good people.” My tone darkens. “But even libertarian heroes fall. I’ve passed the point of being nice. Ever since then my life’s been much more happy. And the people I deal with are far from good. I’m doing the city a favor, much like yourself.”

Batman lurks closer and glares down at me. “If you want to help then you need to connect with the police and the legal system.”

I stifle a laugh and hold a hand to my chest. “Oh! That’s rich coming from you. The masked man who mocks anything ‘legal.’” I switch my smile for a stern frown. “The legal system in Gotham is broken, Batman. For life is one big twisted game, and following the rules brings no happiness. What would you name justice?” My question lingers and he stays silent. “Technically it’s people getting what is fair. But what is fair? I’m here to help with that. To carry out retributive and distributive justice. These people need to be punished for their wrongdoings!”

Batman walks closer but I hold my whip as a warning for him to stay back. “Then let the justice system decide. You can’t just killing.”

I tilt my head in consideration and inch towards the fire escape ladder. “That’s libertarianism, I suppose. I’m pursuing this without interference from others. I trust no one.”

“You seem to trust Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan. The thought halts my logic for a split second but I quickly regain composure.

“Occasionally.”

“He’s psychotic,” Batman argues.

“I’ll tell him you said so.” I smile cheerily.

He catches on to what I’m planning and gets closer. “You’re not leaving my sight-”

“Hello hello.”

We both look over and see Catwoman joining us. Gee, thanks a lot Selina. Why didn’t you tell me your new friend would be stalking around? She cockily struts up and hangs a lazy arm across Batman's shoulder.

“Ms. Kyle,” he grunts.

She smiles wickedly at him. She’s having fun with this game. “Good evening, darling. Having a midnight chat with my stray?”

Batman looks over at me again. “Another ally, Reaper?”

“Your judgment means nothing to me. Only God can save me now.” 

Selina pulls him away to talk more about Bane. Time to slip away. Thanks Selina. I climb the ladder and swing up onto the roof. Where can I hide now? Batman will trace me there if he doesn’t already know where Selina lives. 

“Psst!” Selina hisses from behind.

“Oh, now you want to talk business?” I gibe and put my hands on my hips. 

“Sush! Listen. I made a deal with him. If you stay out of this, he won’t turn you in this time.”

“‘This time?’ Selina, he’s going to bag me either way. What were you guys talking about? Can’t I help?”

She holds up a hand to stop me. “No. This is my score. I can handle Daggett. If all goes right we’ll both have a clean slate. You need to chill and figure out your little heartache problem before doing anything big.”

My face falls. “I can still manage! That incident did not diminish my capability to carry out what’s necessary.”

I follow her down the ladder. She must have talked Batman into leaving because there’s no trace of him. Back on the street it’s much less crowded than before. Is that because of Batman’s recent appearance or because of the paranoia being spread by Bane?

“Still no. Stay out of trouble for a few days.” Selina pauses and gestures to something behind me. “Besides, it looks like you’ve got new issues to deal with.”

What is she looking at? The Gotham big screen news TV. But what’s on it? That’s- Oh my God.

“My- My apartment…” My voice cracks at the sight of my only home here burning ablaze in orange flames. What happened?

“Sorry, Callie. But I have to go now.”

Selina takes off down the street, probably off to sneak into another building for the imaginary clean slate she wants so badly, and leaves me falling apart as I watch the building burn. How? First I lose my home in Metropolis. Now this? Just how far does life want to push me? And what about the other residents? Is Marcus alright?

A new thought slaps me. What happens now? Everything I have is in that apartment. Everything. Weapons, blueprints, all my plans. The only possessions I have left to my name are my bank account and the clothes on my back.

“Aaaagggghhhh!” I scream up at the starry sky and anyone nearby avoids walking past me as I sink to my knees. Except one. A pair of worn black dress shoes stops in front of me. 

“Is this a bad time?”

I weakly lift my head up. Through my blurry vision I see Dr. Crane has returned.

“You? It’s you.” I shake my head and wave him off. “No. Just- Leave. Go away. Can’t you take a hint?” I look up at the TV again, now seeing firefighters douse the remaining skeleton of the building. “Everything I’ve worked and waited for is gone.”

He doesn’t kneel down or take my hand or say any sappy words of optimism. Instead Jonathon looks at what’s happening and shrugs. “What outcome did you expect?”

“Not this!” I gasp, eyes wide and hands flying everywhere. “I want- I want to be happy. And that was all I had.”

Gotham City truly is where happiness goes to die. I stand up and try to regain a firm posture. I guess now I really don’t have anything to lose. I- I guess I’m free. Truly free. All material possession is out the window so now I can either leave for a new job away from Gotham’s insanity or end up shot in the street. Either option ends in misery.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh. Crane’s still here? And he’s-?

“No you’re not!” I deny. “How can you be? How can you possibly hold any feelings besides arrogance and distrust?”

“Because what you’re feeling right now is the exact same way I felt when my own lab was destroyed,” he argues back.

Seeing him again should trigger my nerves to spike… But nothing’s happening. How? 

“It was the League of Shadows. I know it.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I’ve been hiding under the cops’ noses for years and they never suspected a thing. The League took me out in one night.” In anger I kick a can down the sidewalk and snap my whip against a mailbox. “How did I think I could beat the system?” I’m just a small dwindling light that can be easily snuffed out.

Dr. Crane doesn’t try to get closer or touch me. A rather thoughtful idea considering I’ll probably dislocate joints of anyone who’ll try to touch me now. 

“You put up a fight, Calico. As much as I disagree with your courageous quest for righteousness, that takes nerve. You’ve done more in a year than what most can accomplish in a lifetime in Gotham.”

I scoff in denial. “All of that and still no match for all this crime. I’m just… me.”

Now he decides to give me a small pat on the back. “Don’t discredit yourself, sweetheart. You did the best you could.”

Oh, I’m sweetheart now, am I? This psycho thinks he can let a pet name fly and I will ignore it? Well he’s wrong. However it’s not the way I originally would have thought eight years ago. At first the sound of the name sends my heartbeat on doubletime. But then a warm feeling spreads over my chest, as if simply hearing the name is making me happy. 

Why? Really, why? It’s no secret that we’ve had our ups and downs, that Crane originally wanted me only for a lab rat. But he’s changed. I’ve changed. It’s a harsh truth to remember that I’m not getting any younger. If things could be different, maybe… No. He’s in love with his work. And I’ve made it clear that I wanted to distance myself from love. So it makes sense that he would never hold any feelings for me. Believe it or not the feeling isn’t mutual. Deep down I’d be very saddened if something were to happen to him. Still, it’s best to keep playing this charade instead of appearing as a useless gushy schoolgirl with a crush.

“I’m surprised you’re not rubbing my failure in my face,” I say after a moment of silence.

He smirks. “Oh, I will eventually. Just giving it some time to sink in.”

I roll my eyes. “Always a prick.”