#jonthan crane x y/n

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩

↳ summary: you ask your distant and cold professor for some help with your thesis. good thing he seems to be an expert on fear

↳ warnings: mentions of murder, booze, guns, and some gore. canon type gotham violence. a wiff of stalking maybe?

↳ song: aleph—gesaffelstein

masterlist!

University life wasn't much different than you had expected. Television and movies glam it up to make it sound like the peak of your young adult life. A time for exceeding expectations and drinking cheap booze out of those weird solo cups in a random person's basement. But this was Gotham—where crime is the highest in the country and misfortune runs galore. The closest anyone got to walking into a stranger's basement these days was with the threat of a gun at their back.

In preparation for the quote-unquote finest school Gotham had to offer, instead of going out and buying the list of supplies your school recommended, you simply lowered your expectations. Not like there was much to begin with in the first place. You could get a protractor later.

Your thought process proved to be worth it too. Barely an hour into your first day, the campus was evacuated as a precaution for a major villain sighting in the area. Something about filling up a building with highly dangerous gas. As of weeks later, details still hadn't been released to the public. That was fine by you. All you cared about was not getting ripped away from your precious lunch again.

The campus cafeteria was drafty and smelled of mold, parties were thrown way too often, and most of your professors were stern with classes people only took so they could get their degrees.

In that case, Mr. Crane was no different from any of the other teachers.

There was certainly no lack of students in his class on the first week—the largely female percentage most likely gathered because of his pretty face. But by the end of it, over half had already dropped out.

You were not one of them. Somewhat regrettably, you had begun to think after hours of pouring over papers in just the first week. But you needed this class to fully understand your thesis topic and you'd be damned if you moved all the way out to Gotham for nothing.

That was what you were thinking about as you rounded the back row of Doctor Crane's class, staring blankly at the missed call from your mother atop your phone's home screen.

It had practically become a ritual for her to call you at least once a day since you'd moved to the city. Anytime you didn't pick up, it would send her into a frenzy—despite your multiple explanations of why you have your phone on silent during lectures. But that wouldn't stop her from constantly pleading for you to come back and finish getting your degree at home. Because even if it would take longer, and completely drain your bank account, at least you would be away from those lunatics. Or so she called them.

"You have nothing to worry about." You'd told her one time while watching a bowl of ramen bubble angrily on your stove. "Even if I was mugged or something, I'm sure the Batman would save me."

It had been meant as a half joke, said only to quell your mothers worries. Yet the more and more newspaper stands you passed on your way to the store, the more the vigilanties name came up. Often accompanied by the words HERO or SAVIOR afterward.

The sudden memory of newspapers stopped you right as you were about to cross the threshold from the lecture hall to the rest of the building. You were quick to turn around, flipping your phone back into your pants pocket loosely before approaching the professor's desk. A few more students filed out from behind you, one even tossing you a wave, before it was just you and the professor left.

Doctor Crane was nothing short of intimidating. Everything from the clean cut suit he worse, to his icy blue eyes—and even his second title as lead doctor in the nearby Arhum Asylum—was surrounded by an air of stoic professionalism.

The man hadn't even been there on the first day of school. Something that would have off-put you if not for the sudden evacuation, haulting any chance of first impressions. Instead, he had shown up the next day like nothing had happened: lips pressed into a tight line and eyes dull as he spoke to the class without really looking at anyone.

He had made it clear on multiple occasions that he was rarely available after class or for tutoring hours, but you doubted that even if he was, nearly anyone would show up for a one on one conversation.

Looks like you would have to be the outlier today.

You waited patiently as he shuffled from one stack of paper to another, eyes never once drifting over the rim of his glasses to look at you. Occasionally you would catch a glimpse of his usually devoid face break into a little frown before making a mark on a paper and moving on. You resisted the urge to peak and see if any of those papers were yours.

"Yes?" He adressed you by your last name suddenly. Packets and papers continued to shuffle. This time he did spare you a glance, a flash of something swirling in his cold eyes before disappearing. Or maybe that had been the dim light. It had been to quick for you to catch.

You cleared your throat before speaking; adjusting your bag unconsciously.

"I had a question or two for you about my thesis topic." You said with a level tone. He asked what it was somewhat dismissively, his monotone way of speaking ever present.

"I've been researching fear and its effects on the human brain for quite sometime, so I felt it was only fitting for that to be my topic."

That seemed to gather his attention. When you looked up from your examination of the plain black stapler on the corner of his desk, you were met with one raised eyebrow. His hand was writing on the stapled essay before him considerably slower.

If you squinted hard enough it almost looked like he was smiling.

"May I ask what has garnered your interest in such a subject?" He pressed. For a moment your mind went a little blank, not expecting such undivided attention from him. It was unnerving, concidering that before today he probably didn't even know your first name.

"Well, I've always been interested in how much emotions have a grip on the mind." The words were now tumbling from your mouth in a flurry of half-baked thoughts.

"It was only after moving here that I really realized how it can affect an entire city, much less just one person. Everyone knows how absurd the crime rates here are, but I don't think they've ever seen the stark contrast in the Gotham residents from, say, another neighboring city.

And not to mention there's a whole group of personas parading around the block inspiring pure fear. When the bigger crimes aren't outwardly released to the public, I'm starting to think the ones the police can cover up are being covered up. I did a quick search of specific types of crimes related to the patterns of people like the Joker, Bane, and Scarecrow, and too much adds up for it to all be a coincidence."

You reminded yourself to breathe. You knew you were passionate about this subject—hence the decision in thesis topic—but you were never this chatty with it. Something about Doctor Cranes' unwavering stare drew it all out of you in one go. He was a surgeon at the moment, prying your brain apart from the inside out and turning it over in his hands.

Or maybe you were over analyzing things again.

"And what do you think of this Scarecrow?" He had stopped grading now, plucking the clear rimmed glasses of the bridge of his nose and folding them neatly beside him. In a second, his icy blue gaze seemed to intensify in strength, pinning you in place like a specimen of his to observe. You made the brief connection between this and a lepidopterist pinning up butterflys by their wings. It was quick to leave.

Instead you thought back as news clippings and articals flashed in bold print on your mind. Pictures of the victims he had since left behind followed.

Most of them had died from shock or poison, toxins coursing through their bloodstream too fast for their bodies to handle. Not a wonderful way to go, but it was no better or worse than the dozens of mugging gone wrong that occurred everyday. If you ignored how they had all clawed their eyes out in terror, that is.

Your response came slow and methodical, words chosen with care. You were well aware that people had been thrown out of prestigious universities for speaking their minds about less, and you couldn't afford that right now. Besides. He had asked you a question. Who were you to deny him?

"I think what he's managed to make, to do, is a breakthrough in the scientific and medical field." If your professor noted the way you swallowed thickly he didn't say anything.

"What else?" It was almost like he knew every thought that crossed your mind before it even formed. As if he had been preparing for this exact moment.

You could continue. You could tell him that you'd started sitting by your thoroughly locked window at night, waiting patiently to catch a glimpse of a masked maniac. You could tell him that monster was the exact thing that pushed you to move to Gotham. You most certantly could tell him that you wanted to get your hands on that gas to do some tests of your own—see exactly what this Scarecrow had managed to create.

But instead you looked to the left and told him that was it.

"Well if that's all, I would like to continue this conversation at a later date." Doctor Cranes glasses were back on now as he stood up and began gathering his things.

"I'm not sure—"

"I'm quite interested in what you have to say." He adressed you by your last name again, shutting his briefcase closed with a chilling click. "After all, I have written some papers on this exact subject."

You know. You had read them in your search for more information on the Scarecrow's toxin.

"I'll keep that in mind, professor." You glanced at the doorway, wondering if it would be unacceptable to make a dash for it. You didn't want to be late for work any more than you were already. And if you were being honest this conversation had taken a turn you weren't prepared for.

By some grace of god he let the conversation drop. Not caring to spare another glance at him, you took to the door, planning out the route home in your head.

If he watched you go, you didn't notice. It wasn't until you had gotten home in your stained work uniform, beat up trainers grayed with labor, that you noticed your folder for his class was missing.

"Shit." You dragged a tired hand down your face, kicking off your socks as you lay next to the spread out compartments of your backpack.

You sighed. Looks like you'd be seeing Doctor Crane again sooner than you thought.