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lonelier-version-of-you · 2 years

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I am having a wild experience reading your tumblr just now. Fully ten years ago, I watched a smattering of Holby episodes, saw Henrik, thought "that man is not straight," and forgot all about it. Having just noticed that Holby finished, I wondered "whatever happened to that doctor played by that one good character actor" and now I am experiencing (positive) shrimp emotions over bi Henrik. I've been thunderstruck by how genuinely moved I am by it all. Thought you might appreciate.

Aaaaah omg nice!!! 💜 I have been thunderstruck by how genuinely moved I am by it all for like... the past four years lol, so I relate. I thought he was bi since December 2017 (when John arrived; I'd been watching since July 2017, if you're curious, and I just never thought about Henrik's sexuality either way until John), but it was watching the flashback scenes with him and John that made me go "wait hang on this isn't a headcanon?? He's actually bi?? Like, on purpose??" and I've been deeply emotionally attached to him ever since. I'd never seen a queer autistic character like him before, and to be honest, I still haven't seen one since (apart from Sah Brockner from Casualty, I suppose) - all the other queer characters I know of, even the autistic ones, tend to be, like, really sociable and expressive and emotional and stuff. Which is fine, don't get me wrong, but like... where are my awkward, rigid, monotone-voiced, alexithymic queer autistics. So yeah, Henrik means a lot to me.

I'm forever in shock that they actually let him come out, even though I am still so angry about how they handled it (they didn't let him talk about his feelings for John, they forced the "no labels uwu" narrative on him instead of letting him call himself bisexual, they had his internalised homophobia be cured by one - 1 - talk with another queer person, the storyline focused on Henrik's boyfriend Russ's daughter Billie's teenage pregnancy instead of on Henrik himself and his years of self-hatred and his struggle to come out, I could go on). (Plus their refusal to let him talk about John or call himself bi also enabled tons of people to start yelling "waaah, Hanssen's suddenly turned gay!!". There was also a noncanon - and also extremely poorly handled but that's another story - historic sexual abuse storyline, post-John and pre-Russ involving Henrik being abused by a man, so people threw an absolute tantrum and went "This is saying abuse turns you gay!!", when 1. queer CSA survivors literally exist, and 2. again, THE STORYLINE WASN'T CANON. The only canonical instance of sexual assault Henrik has experienced was from a woman in 2017, but unsurprisingly, none of these people were bothered by the fact that he continued having relationships with women after that...) So yeah, Henrik's relationship with Russ has long since been ruined for me lol, but that's okay because Johnrik was a better romance with more chemistry anyway. <3

Also sfsfsfsf I cannot IMAGINE wondering "wow, what happened to Henrik Hanssen?", googling it, and finding out that both his son AND his lover murdered people. That must've been wild.

#asks #anons #tw;sexual abuse mention #tw;csa mention

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wilberdojo · 7 years

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The Battle Wits Can’t Win

Based off of this post by @enygmass (Please read that first so you don’t go into this story blind.)

Warnings: Angst, cancer, depression, self-starvation, self-injury, death.

This story is pretty depressing and caused me to cry multiple times while writing and editing it. As such, I’d really like to thank my test reader @jrae2015 for powering through it to make sure there weren’t any errors I may have missed.

While he had always hated hospitals, now they were nothing short of unbearable to him. The walls were blindingly white as he walked down the corridor, thinking of how quickly the events had transpired. Edward Nygma had called him, voice shaking, terrified and on the verge of crying. He told him where to go, and Jonathan Crane did not hesitate to oblige. That's what brought him here. He could hardly even remember the drive.

The door was open. He thought it strange that police weren't there to guard the obvious villain in the hospital. He heard a sob break the atmosphere of coughing and beeping machines. The only reason he even paid attention to the small sound was because it came from Edward’s room.

Edward was not much for crying. Sure, he did it, as all people do, but never publicly if he could avoid it. Something had to have happened to make him cry as openly as this. The question was what?

Jonathan didn't ask, he simply walked in and looked over his chart. He recognized the words from his studies and quickly figured out the meaning.

Edward Nygma had brain cancer, and this time, there were no Lazarus Pits to save him.

The news hit Jonathan hard, like a ton of bricks smashing into him all at once. He felt lightheaded, yet hypersensitive. His stomach felt bottomless, yet in his throat. He felt sick, even though it wasn't his own diagnosis. He looked up, and his eyes met the red, tearful, droopy eyes of the Riddler, now at the mercy of what will be his deteriorating brain.

Jonathan put the clipboard back and sat down in a chair beside him.

“I'm here,” were the only words muttered between them. “I'm here…”

There was a knock at the door, pulling Edward away from his book to look into the eyes of Jonathan Crane, ones that were no longer cold and uncaring, yet still carried a sharp softness to them.

“Riddle me this. What's in my pocket?”

Edward rolled his eyes.

“You know that's not a real riddle. It's a question, not a riddle.”

“Well, your saying sounds much better than ‘Question me this.’”

“Touché.”

They both chuckled lightly as Jonathan made his way into the room, pulling a piece of candy from his pocket and handing it to the genius.

“You're spoiling me, Jon.”

“You were already spoiled.”

Jonathan sat down beside his friend.

“You don't have to stay.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“Yet you choose to stay in a hospital, a building that, if I remember correctly, you despise.”

“You do remember correctly.”

“Then why?”

“You think yourself not enough reason for me to stay?”

Edward opened his mouth to say something but found himself speechless from the last remark. He had to think on that. He had to do much more thinking lately. His mind was slow, and his remarks slower. Jonathan had noticed, he was certain.

“Was that a compliment?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

There was a short silence. Edward returned to his book, and Jonathan pulled out his own to read.

“‘Soon again I heard the tapping, somewhat louder than before.’”

“The Raven, Edgar Allen Poe.”

“‘There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something… You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.’”

“The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien.”

“‘It is my belief… That the truth is generally preferable to lies.’”

A moment of silence.

“Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, J. K. Rowling.”

“‘Life is much more successfully looked at from a single window.’”

A longer silence.

“I'm… I'm not sure.”

There was a sense of urgency, of fear in his voice. Jonathan can always pinpoint fear.

“The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“I'm forgetting…”

“Everyone forgets books they haven't read in years.”

“Not me…”

When Jonathan came to the room, the door was closed and a doctor was standing guard. The doctor gave him a look, and Jonathan realized immediately what was going on.

It took a few minutes before they left, sure that Edward was going to be alright. Jonathan walked in and sat beside him, as always, and put a hand over Edward’s shaking one. Edward wasn't conscious, but his body was weak, tired, and unable to rest.

He woke up a couple hours later, Jonathan reading a book and still holding his hand. Edward rolled onto his back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. You?”

“Afraid.”

Edward looked at his friend, who had put the book down and had attention focused on him.

“You're never afraid.”

“I am, for you.”

“You don't need to be. It was just a nap.”

“I've been here since they were helping you through the seizure. Don't lie to me, Edward.”

Edward went silent, then looked away from his friend.

“I have every right to be afraid, and honestly I am terrified.”

“I finally scared the scarecrow.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to yell but stopped himself. He wanted to scream at him for making jokes at a time like this, but Jonathan knew that was how he coped. He held his tongue and mustered up a different response.

“Another impossibility made possible by the mighty Riddler.”

The staff was afraid to enter the room. They knew for certain that neither Edward Nygma or Jonathan Crane had eaten for three days. Jonathan refused to leave until Edward woke up, and that meant for anything. They had switched out Edward's IV to accommodate for the lack of nutrition, but they weren't sure what to do for Jonathan. They had an idea but weren't certain it would work.

When the nurse came in with two trays, Jonathan lifted an eyebrow.

“This is a single room.”

“I know. The second tray is for you.”

The nurse handed him the tray and he eyed it suspiciously.

“Eat. We know you haven't for days. It's complimentary.”

There was a moment of silence between them as she set the tray on a small stand for Edward, in case he woke up soon.

“Thank you.”

The nurse blinked in surprise, then smiled as she nodded at him. Jonathan began to eat once she had left the room.

Edward’s mental deterioration was at a one-to-one ratio for Jonathan’s physical deterioration. Jonathan was now a full-time resident of Gotham General Hospital and stayed permanently in the chair beside Edward. He was weaker from the lack of exercise and sleepless nights and would have days where he wouldn't eat.

Edward would have episodes of sleeping days on end, and Jonathan, in turn, would not leave for anything and refused to sleep, prompting nurses to advise him rest and bring him food. Edward was slowly forgetting how he used to speak with Jonathan, his mental dictionary slowly being ripped away, page after page.

What scared Jonathan most, however, were the seizures. He had witnessed three already this month, each stronger than the last.

It had gotten to the point he'd just deal with it himself before paging the nurse, turning Edward on his side and gently holding his spazzing hand, whispering sweet nothings to hopefully relax him as he rode it out. After each one, Edward would regain consciousness long enough to say he was awake, and that he was going to take a nap.

The last nap lasted twenty-four hours.

The worst part was, Jonathan knew this was only the beginning.

When Jonathan returned from the cafe, Edward was crying. This wasn't an abnormal sight, but it still hurt Jonathan to see him like this. There was nothing he could do to help, and he knew it. The Riddler had fallen, and there was no rope long enough to help him back up. He walked over and gently put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't touch me!”

Jonathan flinched, stepping back.

“This is all your fault! You should have done something, Jon! Why didn't you do something?!”

Jonathan said nothing, staying silent as Edward reared up more.

“You're a doctor! You should have been able to tell! You should have been able to prevent this! What, do you hate me? Did you want me to die, Jon?”

“I never wanted that…”

“Then why didn't you do something?”

Edward’s tone had softened to one of fear and sadness. Jonathan understood why. For a moment, they sat in silence. After a few minutes, Edward spoke up.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“I'm sorry…”

Jonathan sighed.

“Me too…”

Edward had been staring at Jonathan for an uncomfortably long time, but Jonathan said nothing, simply holding Edward’s hand and rubbing the back of it with a circling thumb. Edward’s mind was going more and more each passing day, and Jonathan was terrified. Edward could no longer solve riddles, not even simple ones. For most; the vocabulary was lost on him. Edward had forgotten his past, who his father was, what he was like, to which Jonathan had simply told him, “He was a bad man.”

Edward was now staring at Jonathan the way he stared at the riddle book; confused and forgetful.

“What's wrong?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“I don't remember meeting you. I remember us being friends, but I don't remember meeting you.”

Jonathan frowned. He knew it'd happen eventually, but not yet. Years of his life were being chipped away, one memory at a time, and he was helpless to it. Jonathan wished he could help, but the memory wouldn't last.

“We had to have met to become friends.”

“Well, yeah. Of course. I just can't remember it.”

Jonathan was stoic in front of his friend, but that isn't to say that was his common state of being. He would go to sit in his truck before having his outbursts of rage and hopelessness. He'd cry and punch the wheel, coming back with his cheeks puffy and hands bruised. Edward knew what he was doing, but couldn't find words enough to comfort him. Words were nearly completely lost to him. There wasn't much he could say any more. His vocabulary was now limited to mostly ten words. None of them, he regretted, were his friend’s name.

Jonathan looked at him. He could tell he wanted to say something but couldn't figure it out. That was something he really hated. The Riddler always knew what he wanted to say. This wasn't right, not at all. The least this monster infection could have done was leave his friend able to speak.

Edward stared at Jonathan with pleading eyes and weakly lifted his hand, which Jonathan took. He felt Edward write on the back of his hand with a finger, the only way he could say what he wanted to say.

You need sleep.

“I'm alright.”

You need help.

“I'll handle it. You should get some rest.”

Edward frowned. He could always tell when Jonathan was lying. Now was no exception.

Edward could no longer move that so-crucial finger that helped them communicate beyond the failure of his lips. He’d look dead if it weren't for the tear-filled eyes staring at the ceiling. Jonathan rubbed the back of his hand with a thumb, staring hopelessly at the ground. It wouldn't take much longer now, and they both knew it. It was only a matter of time.

A time neither were wanting to come.

When it ended, it was sudden. Jonathan was talking to Edward, mentioning poets he had loved and muttering their writings to him. He froze mid-word when the ECG flatlined. He pressed the call button before he had even realized it, and stood over Edward, staring into his green eyes that unblinkingly gazed at the ceiling. He was doing compressions already when the doctors arrived.

The world seemed to slow. He watched the doctors take over. He listened to the charging of the defibrillator and then watched Edward arch at the release of electricity into his body. The world felt fake. It was as if he was the only living person viewing a movie from the center. It was a horror movie, one he couldn't escape. One Edward couldn't escape. The doctors raised the voltage and tried again. However, Edward never took another breath. He had lost to the battle wits can't win.

Jonathan was famous for being stoic, but few thought he would keep this mask on the day of the public funeral. Police came to calm the crowds of people in green but promised to leave villains paying respects alone. Jonathan was in black, a straight face, more resembling a grim reaper than a scarecrow, and came to the casket’s side. As he looked down at the frozen face of his dear friend, he felt ill. He felt fake. The world was frozen and nothing existed.

Selina Kyle had seen Jonathan collapse and slowly helped him to his seat. She didn't have to ask to know he hadn't slept in far too long. He wouldn't have responded anyway. She looked at his hands, blood seeping through the bandages from where he had cut himself smashing all his liqueur bottles, and smelled heavily of the smoke from burning all the cartons of cigarettes he owned.

Edward had always complained of Jonathan’s unhealthy habits. It pained, no, angered him to keep their advocates in his house any longer. Jonathan only wished Edward was alive to see this turn of habits.

Jonathan rose and went to the podium with a prepared speech when he was asked to say a few words. He looked over the crowd, then back at the paper on the podium. Suddenly, he was a professor again, only this time teaching the life of his dear friend to his audience of villains, civilians, and law enforcement. He only got a third of the way through before everything melted away, and Jonathan had trailed off into silence. He stared at the casket. How had this happened? What more could he have done? There was so much wrong with the world. Could he have made it right?

Jonathan was not much for crying. Sure, he did it, as all people do, but never publicly if he could avoid it. Something had to have happened to make him cry as openly as this. The death of the Riddler was more than enough.

Selina stood and escorted him back to his seat as Oswald rose to finish Jonathan’s speech for him. Jonathan was angry and confused, just as much as he was devastated. Selina was unable to calm him.

Once the service ended, Jonathan returned to his truck alone. He sat in the driver’s seat and stared blankly at the wheel. It all seemed fake. All of this. Was this another master plan of the Riddler’s? One set to clear his name so he could retire? No. Jonathan would have known if it was. Edward wouldn't have put him through this. He wouldn't have forced him to watch his closest friend die if he, himself, wasn't afraid. Jonathan had been his comfort the past year and a half, as the man slowly drifted into the abyss. Jonathan missed him greatly, and that was a fact he couldn't deny. How could he deny it when he was driving to one of Edward’s old traps just to get a vision of the Riddler one last time?

#Wilberdojo writes #oneshots and commissions #batman #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #edward nygma #riddler #cancer #brain cancer

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