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cillianmesoftlyyy · 3 months

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I Can Fix That... Pt. 3 | Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

notes: And the plot and smut continues hehe. In this installment I used Lady Arkham as inspiration. She is originally a DC character/villian. The backstories that I included here are all based on the original DC comicbook/nolanverse lore. I literally used Batman wiki for additional research.

Summary| Crane brought a woman home. That was definitely not something he ever anticipated that he would ever do. He needs to trust her and she's starting to have second thoughts. Was leaving Gotham the right thing for her to do? Yes, she likes Crane but does she like him enough? What is he hiding from her? Oh honey, he was hiding a lot...

Warnings| Fire, mentions of a gun, drugs, smut- fingering, teasing, masturbation, dubious consent, the word "r*pe" is used once, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving). Violence, death, insanity, overdose (no death), infidelity, murder, police violence, trauma, abandonment, general unpleasantness.

word count: 8086k

Lonely Day- System of a Down 🎵

Love Song- Jack Off Jill 🎶

Superstar- Sonic Youth 🎵

Please please please read warnings for this one- we're going over childhood trauma

The helicopter landed in an open field in the outskirts of the city. She and Crane climbed out and ducked beneath the blades as they crossed the pasture.

“We’re outside the city now. We’re safe here and depending on how Ra’s plan goes, we can stay here.” Crane looked down at the girl beside him. She watched the helicopter, distractedly, as it rose into the air and flew away. The field around them immediately quieted without the presence of the aircraft and they could hear the other breathe for the first time in a while.

“Where do we go now?” She looked around them at the expanse of pasture and wild flowers hidden in the dark.

“Over this hill.” Crane started walking and she followed, staying a few paces behind him. When they reached the top of the hill, she saw an old scarecrow standing in a field, empty of crops. The man was made of burlap and covered with rags. Straw exploded out of the scarecrow’s body. She looked at Crane who’d stopped to look at the scarecrow. Sensing her beside him, he glanced back at her and clenched his jaw. He gave no explanation or story and she didn’t want to ask because she didn’t want to cause him more pain. They walked a little farther and as they did, a large house came into view. Crane pointed it out to her with a sneer, directed at the house, not at her, “and there’s my father’s house.”

The lights inside the mansion were on and it leaked light across the landscape that separated them.

“Is your father home?” She asked and he chuckled darkly.

“No, I had the housekeeper open the house for us. Just like with the helicopter, I find it is always useful to play your cards carefully. I was suspicious of Ra’s because I’m suspicious of everyone, even you,” he nodded down at her and she frowned slightly. “I don’t make friends easily, they often disappoint me.” He smiled at his own self-effacing humor.

“Have I disappointed you?” She asked him. He turned his icy blue eyes to her and shook his head.

“No but we aren’t friends,” he laughed lightly and looked back at the house in the distance.

“No? Then what are we?” She pouted a little, looking down at her feet and then to his face.

“We’re more,” he answered evenly and began to walk again. She blushed and hurried to follow him, hiding her smile. Crane even smiled, blocking out the bad memories of the place they now found themselves in. He was no longer scared of the scarecrow but the memories he associated with the figure in the field did little to comfort him. They walked on until they reached the front gate and Crane typed in a passcode on an elaborate screen. The gates were black iron with sharp spikes fixed to the top and they opened with a long and droning squeak. The driveway changed to gravel as Crane led her up to the front door and he pulled on the lion’s head door knocker, releasing a loud door chime inside the house. One wing of the house, she noticed, was burned.

“You’re right, I’m starting to realize that I really know nothing about you.” She looked up at the large gothic mansion above her.

“That,” Crane turned his head to her and sighed as if it were obvious, “is what a second date is for.”

The front door opened and a man in a tuxedo greeted them coldly, reminding her of Crane.

“Welcome back, doctor.” The butler deadpanned and Crane pushed past, wiping his feet in the entryway. She followed suit and nodded to the butler, smiling excitedly.

“This is Miss —; Miss Y/N Y/L/N.” Crane gestured his hand carelessly between them and continued on into the reception hall. All the walls were carved from solid wood into even square panels.

“Welcome to the Crane House, ma’am.” The butler bowed his head briefly and followed them. She nodded her head in thanks and became immediately enraptured by the spooky house. “Shall we serve dinner now or would you like to change?”

Crane turned and cleared his throat, his eyes trying to focus on the room without his glasses. “We’ll change first, Hobbs.”

“There are clothes laid out in the bedrooms.” The butler bowed and disappeared behind a swinging door. She turned to Crane and laughed.

“What the hell is this place?” She asked in a bewildered whisper. Crane chuckled, finding the girl adorable in her amazement.

“This is my childhood home.”

“So this is where the famous Dr. Crane was raised. I’m intrigued.” She batted her eyelashes and ran up some of the stairs, her fingers trailing the thick banisters. Crane smiled and followed her.

“Do you like seeing this side of me? Does it thrill you?” His voice prodded her heart and her legs became wobbly.

“Everything about you does that,” she stood one step above him and cupped his face. She ran her finger down his angular cheekbone and swiped across his wide chapped lips. She kissed his neck and beneath his jaw before finally kissing his lips.

“For now,” he whispered as she pulled away. They climbed the rest of the stairs up to the second floor and Crane led her down a tight hallway. Animal heads were mounted on the walls and she studied them with a mixed sense of appreciation. Crane pushed open a door with a crystal doorknob.

“This is your room,” he swept his hand through the room and she gasped in awe. The one room was nearly the size of her entire apartment in Gotham. The walls were painted with elaborate murals. She stepped hesitantly into the room and twirled, wanting to see every inch of the place. Crane looked on from the door, his lips spread into a smile.

“I’m glad you like it,” he laughed and she ran into his arms, smiling.

“I love it! I am officially living out one of my dreams.” She pulled down on his collar and kissed him. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and kissed him deeper, her fingers now brushing across the soft skin on his neck. Crane sighed through his nose and found her waist, resting his hands on the indents of her hips. The excitement of the day prompted a sense of adventure and need inside her and she communicated that through her kiss. She bit playfully on Crane’s bottom lip and moaned (intentionally) against him to fluster him. She felt his body shutter from the suggestive sounds she made against him. Her cunt throbbed wantingly and she could feel her heartbeat in her upper thighs.

“Mhm!” She hummed and caught her breath as Crane’s hands slipped to the base of her back.

“You never get tired, do you?” He muttered against her huskily and she shook her head.

“No, Dr. Crane.” She whispered with a soft whine and licked his bottom lip before kissing him harder. She felt his cock twitch on his pants as he pressed himself against her.

“Good, because neither do I,” he bit the point of her jaw gently and kissed over the hickies he had already made on her neck the night before. He looked all rumpled and hot in his suit after the action of the day and she desperately wanted to undress him. She wanted to fuck him like a normal couple, not tied down to a mortuary slab where she couldn’t even touch him. God, she wanted to touch him. She dragged one hand down to his crotch and cupped his cock through his pants. She rubbed her hand against the half-hard bulge and moaned pitifully as if she were the one getting touched.

“You’re pathetic,” Crane smirked and pulled her head back gently by her hair. She nodded with a pleased smile, happy that he saw her for what she really was and what she really wanted. He kissed her hard, taking her breath away, and sucked on her tongue so deep she felt like she might choke. When he pulled away and dropped his hold on her neck, his lips were pink and his eyes heavy with lust. She knew her face was flushed and that it turned him on but instead of acting on it, Crane leaned back against the door jam and jerked his head at the bed.

“Hobbs laid out some clothes for you. I hope they fit, I went through your closet to find your size but I trusted Hobbs and his wife with the shopping.” He smirked, proud of himself for leaving the girl so horny, it made him even harder. He left the room and closed the door, his erection still pressing against his pants.

She went down the stairs and looked around for the dining room, turning her curious head left and right. The clothes that had been laid out for her were simple and elegant. A long black dress with a boat neck that she wore with the burgundy stockings set beside it. She’d worn her black mary janes and run a brush through her hair, knowing that would be enough to help her look put together. She followed the sound of a crackling fire and polite conversation through a far door. Crane looked up as she entered and looked her up and down, his eyes sticky against her curves.

“What do you think?” She gestured to her dress and gave a slow twirl. The butler and his wife stood to the side, watching her with small, pleased smiles. Crane leaned forward, resting his elbows on the white tablecloth.

“Apparently, my housekeepers have extraordinary taste.” He smirked and stood as she walked to her place at the table on his right.

“High praise,” she smiled at Hobbs. As they sat together, Hobbs served their dinner of smoked ham. She took a long sip of the gin martini from her glass and swirled the stem with her wrist.

“It’s hard to believe that we were in Gotham just an hour or two ago.” She took in his body dressed in a black suit without his usual tie. His face was clean and he’d refreshed his hair with some gel, the smell was comforting.

“Tonight could have ended very differently…” he looked at his food. The butler and his wife left the room, going back into the kitchen.

“Thank you for what you said this morning,” she flicked her eyes up to his. He looked back and caught his breath. She looked stunning and he felt the need to pinch himself to remember where they were and how they’d gotten there in the first place. He remembered telling her to do as he said because he wanted her to live and he worried that Ra’s would go back on his word, and as he suspected, Ra’s had, just not with her.

“I’m just glad that we came to our agreement when we did, before Ra’s. I’ll admit that my desire to keep you alive was more selfish than chivalrous because I needed you for my own reasons.”

“Like what?” She raised her eyebrow and cut a piece of meat. It melted on her tongue and she swallowed it slowly, watching him.

“I have plans for Gotham, plans that would involve you,” he cocked his head towards her, adding, “of course. I don’t know yet how Ra’s plans will play out but I suspect that he will fail. Batman will think that he’s saved the city from ‘bad guys’ but,” he leaned in closer, “I’m not so easily defeated and I suspect that we’ll run into each other again.”

“Are you sure that you can trust me with these plans of yours,” she opened herself up to him and stood, looming over Crane in his seat,” these plans that also include me?” She rested her knee on the edge of his seat between his legs, straddling his thigh. Crane looked up at her calmly, unmoved by the position of her knee against his crotch or the heat of her cunt hovering above his thigh. Crane watched her for a moment, letting a heavy silence fall between them before inhaling and shifting his torso closer as if he were going to whisper something to her.

“Like I told Ra’s,” he started quietly, his eyes dark and harsh at the candlelight table. His hand squeezed the bottom of her thigh above her knee, she gasped quietly, “I’ll make sure that I can trust you…” his hand snaked up the inside of her thigh beneath her dress. He pulled the edge of her stocking away from her thigh and let it snap painfully back against her skin. “Won’t I?” He asked darkly as his forehead creased slightly. She gasped again as his hand found her underwear and stroked her clothed cunt. “Won’t. I?” He sneered and she remembered to nod. “Answer me,” he snapped and brushed his fingers past the crotch of her underwear, spreading the wetness between her legs with the pads of his fingertips.

“Yes,” she hissed breathlessly, closing her eyes as he rubbed her cunt, creating a dangerous friction.

“You’re pissing me off, detective.” He growled and roughly began to finger her, shoving two fingers harshly inside. She yelped and looked down at Crane, his eyes flashed.

“Why, Dr. Crane?” She wrapped her fingers around the base of his neck, her thumb sitting right below his adam's apple. She smiled when his other hand gripped her thigh harder. She moved her hips on his fingers and he watched with interest as she dripped around his fingers. “How can I fix it for you?” She purred against his cheek, moaning softly as he fingered her and teased her clit with his thumb. She began to pant and instinctively moved her thighs together as the pleasure became too much. She squeezed around his fingers and her hands tightened around his throat, about to cum.

“Behave,” he whispered seriously and removed his fingers before she could finish. She groaned in frustration and held his face between her hands.

“You’re such a tease, Jonathan.” She scolded him and he smiled.

“And you’re a horny little slut.” He whispered close to her lips and she shook her head, smiling giddily.

“I’m just a horny little slut for you.” She ran her tongue across his lips, dragging it up to his nose. She let go of his face and plopped back into her chair, crossing her legs pointedly. Crane rolled his eyes and raised his fingers to his mouth. He sucked her juices from his hand as she watched and then finished his drink, ignoring her when she whined with lust.

“You’re like a dog,” he rested his elbow on the table, “you think you’ll get what you want if you whine enough.” He delivered the sentence with a knowing look and returned to his food. She didn’t want to admit to herself how much that turned her on. She huffed and tucked her hair behind her ear and finished her martini hungrily. She finally had a moment to glance around the room and when she did, she saw a beautiful fire burning in a stone fireplace.

“That’s beautiful,” she gestured to the fireplace carved with cherubs. Crane looked and nodded.

“I think so too. We haven’t had fires in the fireplace since I was a child. You may have noticed that part of the house was destroyed.”

She nodded.

“That’s because the house almost burned down when I was…” he frowned as he thought, “five or six?” He shrugged and sighed, looking into the blazing fire. “My father never let us use the fireplaces after that. It made for cold winters,” He flicked his eyes up to hers and she shivered.

“I can imagine,” she thought back to her childhood in the orphanage, freezing at night during any season that wasn’t summer.

“The house will be a lot warmer now,” he said casually and allowed a small smirk to tug at his lips.

“What happened to ‘behaving ourselves’?” She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow in fake disapproval. Crane chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he lied and they went back to eating when Hobbs entered with dessert.

iii

It was nearly 2am when they finally climbed the grand staircase to return to their rooms. There was a large common room that separated the two wings of the house on the second floor. The wing to their right was burned and stood empty.

“Where’s your room?” She furrowed her brow as they walked down the hallway, passing the laundry chute. Crane pointed to a room at the mouth of the hallway, near the top of the stairs. Her’s was at the opposite end of the hallway. She smiled and spun around, facing her side of the hallway. She let him watch her walk away, moving her hips as loosely as she could manage. When she opened her door, she turned slightly and gave him a closed-mouth smile, her eyes teasing him. He crossed his arms and leaned against his door, his expression unreadable. She closed her door and did a few extra happy-spins for good measure. She kicked off her shoes and explored the bathroom, finding herself in a mood for a bath after not showering the night before. She turned on the bath’s faucet and filled the large tub with hot water. As she undressed, she spotted a row of cosmetics set out for her use, and included in the assortment was the shampoo that she used at home. A small part of her found it scary that Crane had obviously gone through her home to find the things she liked but more than that, she felt honored that he had planned his backup plan with her in mind. He’d asked the housekeepers to prepare her a room and stock it with clothes and shampoo, all just in case she came with him. He’d imagined her coming with him, and that nearly made her cry. She slipped into the hot water and scrubbed every inch of her body, trying to remove all of the sweat, dirt, and debris that had stuck to her skin over the past 24 hours. She washed her hair with the mint shampoo as Crane had guessed she used correctly before. The suds ran down her hair and between her shoulder blades as her hands worked the shampoo into her head. She ducked her head beneath the water and watched as her hair floated out around her head. When she came up for air, her hair stuck to her back and she sighed pleasantly.

The bathroom was cold when she left the security of the hot water so she quickly wrapped herself in a thick towel and brushed her hair. She rubbed lotion into her dry skin and toweled off her hair. The housekeepers had given her numerous sets of pajamas in different styles. She guessed Crane had decided against going through her underwear drawer, what a gentleman. She liked soft lounge pants and t-shirts so she changed into the dark blue set they had provided for her and unmade her bed. The wide windows on the side wall looked out on the field and she could just barely see the outline of the scarecrow. The house itself had a strange and suffocating feel. She wondered what Crane may have endured here, what secrets he hid inside himself.

She bit the inside of her cheek and found the gun that she’d brought with her from Gotham. She hid the gun behind the headboard of her bed and sat with her knees pressed up to her chest on the mattress. She wrapped her arms around her legs and shivered, goosebumps rose on her legs and she rocked back and forth, resting her head on her knee like a child. Should she feel guilty for betraying her precinct? Should she worry about Sgt. Gordon and Gotham itself? What had Gotham given her? How had it protected her? She felt torn between a route of righteousness and one of passion. Crane offered her a path to her own future set outside the laws of society where she could create her own identity. She didn’t want to be the good girl cop anymore, she wanted to be everything else and she wanted Crane.

Crane was testing her. He wanted to see how badly she actually wanted him, how much she would fight to be with him. He needed her to be obsessed, foaming at the mouth at the thought of him. Maybe he was psychotic, sure (he was). His father certainly was and it usually runs in families. Crane’s manic obsession was her and he needed her, but before he could trust her, he had to be sure that she was totally and completely loyal to him. He knew she had her gun and he assumed she’d suffered more internal dialogue since escaping Gotham (he was a psychiatrist, so of course he knew these things). If he pushed her away would she cling to him more or feel the need to betray him? He had to admit that this test was grueling for him too. He didn’t think that he was capable of love or real attraction, he was a psychopath, literally. He’d studied himself as much as he had the subjects in his textbooks in school and he checked all the boxes but this- this- was a new development that he didn’t quite understand. It almost made him angry when he thought of the power she could wield over him if he got too close. She’d spoken so much of trust and he wanted to trust her. He did. But he’d trusted Ra’s, he’d trusted his father and at one point in his life he’d trusted Sgt. Gordon. Those relationships had not ended well. Then this prissy young detective comes along and confronts him with feelings he didn’t think he could have. That was why she was the subject of his fear toxin reaction. She’d found a way to matter to him and losing her had already become his worst fear. He wanted… oh god there were so many things that he wanted from her. He hoped that it wouldn’t take much longer because he was starting to lose patience.

She stared at the ceiling above her bed and tried to touch herself. She didn’t have her vibrator and Crane had made a point of pushing her away, so she was left to rough it out with her hands. She hadn’t been stuck with just her bare hands since college. Her vibrator had obviously spoiled her and she felt nowhere near as much pleasure without it, though Crane had come extremely close the night before. She dug her heels into the mattress and bit her lip, concentrating as hard as she could on Crane. She remembered the way he spoke to her as he fucked her, how calm and direct he’d been with her body. They both had needs and desires and he hadn’t let insecurities or formalities stand in the way. Her body was craving a release that she’d teased it with twice already that day and she couldn’t fall asleep without trying to appease it. After ten minutes of heavy breathing and a sore arm she collapsed in frustration across her bed. She desperately wanted him and nothing was going to cut it unless it was him inside her. Something- anything. She groaned into her hands and kicked the blankets off of her.

The door handle creaked and Crane shifted in his half-sleep haze. The bed moved around him and he was startled awake by the girl, straddling his hips. He kept a smile from his lips as he looked up at her.

“What the hell are you doing?” He got out before her hand clamped around his mouth. She shushed him.

“Listen here, Crane. Since we have an understanding,” she used his word for their relationship, “I’ll tell it to you straight. I want you. I need you. I have very few needs because I’m a simple girl, but right now, you’re one of them. I’ll ask you nicely and if you humor me, I won’t cause trouble.”

“Trouble?” His voice was muffled against her hand as he raised his eyebrow.

“I have a whole round of trouble tucked away behind my headboard.”

“Nice threat. So, you what? Want to rape me?” He propped himself up on his elbows.

She hooked her finger around the collar of his black t-shirt and sighed.

“You have such a dirty mind. Why do you have to make it sound so perverted?” She held his chin tightly in her hand and dragged her other hand down his chest stopping at the waistband of his pants.

“That’s what it is, detective.” He cocked his head to the side and rested it on his shoulder. “Are you really going to do that to me?”

“Says the man that strapped me to a slab and drugged me three times,” she held up three fingers to stress her point and shifted her hips on his crotch.

“We both have problems, what do you want me to say?”

“That you’ll fuck me,” she started to grind her hips and he withheld his sinful exhale.

“Oh?” He said instead, “what if I’m too tired? Fucking is hard work.”

“Then let me do it,” she shrugged with a smile, “I’ll make us both feel good.” Crane raised a skeptical eyebrow and smirked.

“You really didn’t get enough at dinner did you?” He teased and she shook her head.

“You have no idea.”

He watched her rub herself against him and then slowly allowed his eyes to meet hers. She moaned just looking into his eyes and he laughed.

“Ok, let’s see how you do.” He allowed her casually and watched as she bounced happily on his lap and scooted down to his knees. She pulled down the blanket and worked her hands below his waistband. He was already hard and she scoffed, pissed that he hadn’t admitted how turned on he was too. He smirked as she pulled his cock out of his pants and rolled her tongue around the tip. When she took him in her mouth he sighed softly, his mouth open as he watched her give him head. She swirled her tongue around his length and she bobbed her head up and down. She sucked and dragged her mouth slowly over him until he bucked softly into her mouth. She felt her stomach get hot with excitement and she worked harder, humming against him as she took him deeper. Crane clenched his fists and groaned. She pulled her mouth to the top of his cock and sucked hard, teasing his climax which she could tell was fast approaching. His forehead was creased and he squeezed his eyes shut, allowing his head to fall back with a low gasp.

“Fuck alright, that’s enough,” He sat up again and smirked, “get what you want out of me.” He panted and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. She licked her lips and crawled off the bed. Crane watched her as she stepped out of her bottoms and straddled him once more, naked from the waist down. His erection rested against her stomach and he swallowed, staring at her bare cunt.

“I hope you like what you see,” she whispered and removed her top. Her breasts shifted slightly against her skin as she moved and her hair fell around her in a sultry mess. “Because it all belongs to you now,” she pressed her hands against his stomach for balance and leaned closer. “But this,” she looked him up and down, landing on his beautiful eyes and smiling, “this belongs to me.”

“Silly girl,” he barely shook his head as his eyes trained on her, “I don’t belong to anyone.”

“We’ll see about that,” she shrugged and bit her lip as she lowered herself onto his cock. She whined in relief and moved her hips slowly. She was so wet he could her himself move inside of her as she fucked him. Crane’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he released a tight breath.

“Fuuuuck…” he hissed and she squeezed around him, nearly orgasming just by hearing the pleasure in his voice. She panted breathlessly as she started to move up and down, her hands balanced on his navel where there was a thin dusting of hair. He thrusted up involuntarily and they both moaned. She sped up slightly, moving her hips back and forth. Crane’s hands found the fleshy handles of her hips and dug his fingers into her skin. He had laid back completely making it so that he had to raise his head when he wanted to watch how she snapped down on him. She let her head fall back and moaned loudly as his cock hit the right place each time. The pleasure was so good between her legs that her release felt like the desire to pee. When her climax snapped, her eyes rolled back and she gasped, riding it out and enjoying the pressure of him inside her as it carried her through the high. Her climax triggered his as he felt her cum around her.

“You’re going to cum inside me,” she panted and whimpered through the sensations.

“Is that an order?” He gritted out, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips. He was trying to hold off his orgasm but as she nodded and squeezed him again, he let himself cum inside her with a loud groan. She sat for a second longer as he finished and finally moved off. She cleaned him off, sucking his swollen cock and swallowing all of the excess cum and discharge that had collected along his length. He covered his face with his hands as he tried to catch his breath.

“Are you going to leave it in?” He asked in a deep, tired voice.

“Your cum?”

“Yes, are you going to leave it in you?” He removed his hands and watched as she crawled up the bed to sit beside him.

“Do you want me to?” She let her hair fall around them and he twirled the end of one of the pieces.

He thought for a moment before nodding his head, “yes.” She curled up beside him and draped her leg between his. He exhaled slowly and wrapped his arm around the back of her head, resting his hand on her shoulder. She rubbed her nose against his chest, breathing in the clean smell of his t-shirt. Crane closed his eyes and waited as her breathing became more regular and slow. She started to fall asleep, her hand clasped against his ribs. When she was asleep, he propped himself up on one arm and watched her. Words couldn’t describe how good that was, what she did for him. It was better than their first time when the roles had been reversed. He liked that she could touch him and explore him with a needily innocence like a horny teenager. Crane thought about his cum still sitting inside her, collecting around her inner-thighs. He kissed her as she slept deeply, licking the salty taste from her lips and swallowing. She made a noise in her sleep and he drew his hand around her perfect breast, admiring her body in the dull glow of the moon. Gotham would be no match for them once they were united. No one could stop them, not even themselves. Once they started they could never stop, they had to take everything from each other. His head fell back into his pillow and he kissed the curve of her throat before allowing himself to fall asleep beside her. He’d never slept with a woman after sex. She was the first.

They woke up late in the morning and dressed warmly, both wearing sweaters and long pants. Crane had traded in his suit for more casual wear though his attire was always oozing with old money aesthetic. After a breakfast of eggs benedict and black coffee, Crane asked if she wanted to see the house.

“Of course,” she smiled and nodded excitedly. There were some questions she still had for Crane and she had her own list of theories and thoughts that the house inspired inside her. She worried what the house would reveal and more importantly, what it may say about Crane. She wondered if he had lived a childhood similar to hers, one of trauma and violence, even if he had lived in a huge mansion with every monetary item he could ever desire.

They started outside the house, walking the grounds. The exterior of the house was set in elaborate stone carvings. The roofs were made of dark terracotta, framing widow peaks at the top of many of the towers. Crane watched her reaction as they rounded to the side of the house with the destroyed wing, still black from the burning. She could even still smell the charcoal made from the house’s old paneling.

“Your father never rebuilt it?” She asked, curious. Crane studied the crumbling structure and shook his head.

“No, he died before making plans for a renovation.” She looked at him quickly and met his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“But you understand.”

She nodded slowly, “I was an orphan, I never knew my parents.”

“So was I.” He clenched his jaw and looked down at the ground.

“Your mother?” She asked hesitantly.

“She died, here, in this wing.” He pointed to the second floor of the burned wing. “That was her room.”

“You were young then too,” she remembered and he nodded. “Do you remember your mother?”

“Some things but nothing that brings me much comfort. I remember how she died and I remember how my father mourned her.”

“So she died in the fire?”

“Yes,” he nodded and folded his arms across his chest, “she was trapped inside after the fire started. They weren’t able to save her. My father was never the same after that.”

“When did your father die?”

“Before I went to college…” he trailed off and they stood in silence for a moment. “He was a chemist, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. Did he teach you?”

Crane chuckled darkly, “I guess you could say that. He used me for his experiments.” He scowled. What he had said back in Arkham came back to her mind and she risked asking more.

“Jonathan?” She started.

“Yes?” He asked, his voice hard and protective like a layer of ice.

“What did he do to you?”

Crane swallowed and turned away from the house, forcing her to hurry behind him to keep up. His hair was tousled by the wind as he walked through the icy field. As the slope curved downwards, he finally started to speak.

“He was the one who first came up with the idea for the fear serum. After my mother’s death he became obsessed with it and started to test it on himself like a lunatic. It messed with his head and made him relive my mother’s death over and over again until he finally had to stop and find a new subject. His new subject became me.” He darted his eyes angrily around the ground as he spoke, spit flying from his lips. “He would give me the toxin and at the time, it was 10x more dangerous. He used me to gauge the body’s reactions to fear and kept track of what the brain imagined during that state of panic. He wanted to create a cure for fear, a way to remove the body’s reaction to it. At some point he made a breakthrough in the case using people he’d kidnapped and found a way to remove a person’s ability to be afraid. He used it on himself and after that, his natural instincts became mute. When I was sixteen he brought me here,” he stopped suddenly and she looked as he gestured at the scarecrow hanging from its perch, “and he administered the drug one last time.”

“What happened?” She whispered, her blood going cold.

“I overdosed on the serum and hallucinated that the scarecrow was alive but the fear I felt was multiplied from the large dose of toxin. Your old boss, Sgt Gordon, found us out here having come to arrest my father for kidnapping and murder. Because my father no longer feared anything, he charged Gordon and Gordon shot him. He died where we’re standing… and I watched it. I watched it all happen.” He stared at the scarecrow, his face set. He didn’t show any emotion as he recounted his father’s death, his own trauma.

“What did Gordon do?” She stepped closer but left him a small circle of space, a safety net.

“He took me to the hospital and once I recovered, they brought me back here.”

“You were so young,” she whispered sadly, wanting to cry for him.

“So were you, weren’t you, when you were left at the doors of Gotham’s orphanage?” She nodded.

“I was a baby.” She hugged herself and stared down at the ground beneath them.

“That’s why I think we’re so similar. We raised ourselves- you and I.” He smirked, “it would explain our similar psychology.”

“The fact that we’re both deeply disturbed? Sure, I’ll give you that,” she laughed lightly, her nose burned in the cold air.

“Mm… deeply disturbed,” Crane sounded out the words with a soft hiss.

“Psychotic?” She offered.

“Psychopathic.”

“Deranged.”

“That’s not a medical diagnosis I’m familiar with,” he looked down at her, taking in the profile of her ruddy cheeks blistering in the wind.

‘But not far off is it?” She smiled and looped her fingers in the front of his sweater, her hands brushing the hard muscle beneath.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I’ll have to conduct more thorough examinations.. I’d kill to have a look inside your head.” His fingers traced her hairline and pulled gently on her hair.

“I have a few ideas for other places you could examine,” she teased and he smirked, coming back from his temporary emotional lag.

“Intriguing offer, detective.”

“Thank you, Dr. Crane,” she returned his smirk and pulled him away from the scarecrow. He followed her. “Why did you choose the scarecrow as your alias?” she brought the conversation back and his forehead creased again as he thought.

“I was forced to face my fear and after I returned here with just Hobbs and his wife to keep me company. I decided to take back the power that the scarecrow took away from me that day. Embracing my fear made me stronger, more powerful,” He answered seriously and she nodded.

“Why did you improve your father’s fear toxin if you knew what it was capable of?” She asked quietly, watching for his reaction.

“I made it because I knew what it was capable of. People like us have suffered, we’ve been wronged, we’ve been abandoned and ignored. There are people in this world who have the privilege of never being afraid because they have nothing to fear. I made it originally to use on the city’s elite, the people who think they’re better than me because they think they’re wealthier than I am, smarter than I am. Ra’s distracted me from my plan and I know now that I was right from the very beginning, Batman and his like need to be dethroned. We can be the ones to do it.”

She looked into his eyes and kissed him, drawing his face down to hers by the rough collar of his sweater. His lips were dry from the wind. When she pulled away he held her face between his hands and looked at her seriously, his nostrils flared.

“Do you still trust me after everything I just told you? Do you still want to be with me?” He asked her calmly, a dark glint in his eye. She dropped her head to the side and he caught it easily in his palm.

“Yes, yes.” She nodded.

They walked in silence, their hands brushing against each other and their hair blowing in the short gusts of wind.

“There’s still something you should know,” Crane began as they crossed through the door into the grand entry hall.

“Like how you learned to ride a horse?” She joked but Crane didn’t smile. His face was hard again as it had been before. Her smile faded slowly and she felt her heart shutter and drop. “What?” She whispered and Crane left without another word, so she followed him hesitantly. He led her down into the basement, taking a stone staircase hidden behind a wall panel that also served as a door. Their steps echoed in the small space, electric sconces burned along the creepy passage. Finally Crane stopped at the door at the bottom of the stairs. The door was made of solid steel and Crane had to enter a passcode to open it.

“Through here,” he guided her through the door and closed it behind them. The room was large and cave-like, lined with bookshelves and lab equipment. She gave an appreciative gasp, taking in the room that served as Crane’s office and private lab. “This was my father’s lab and when he died, it became mine.” He walked around to his desk and rummaged through one of the bottom drawers, removing a few small folders and placing them on his desk. He rested his knuckles on the cherry wood surface and sighed, finally meeting her eyes since they got back to the house.

“Back to our topic of trust, I should tell you that I did a little snooping, if you will, into your past when we first started crossing paths. I wanted to know who I was dealing with, which is why I did this and now that we’ve ended up here together, I feel that it’s only right,” the word tasted bitter on his tongue, “to show you what I found. I’ve always told you that we’re alike, that we understand each other but I’ve never explained why. This is why I know we’re alike, Y/N.” He opened the front flap of each folder and pushed them down to the front of the desk. “You should know what happened to you as a child, the things they never told you at the orphanage.” He waited as she swallowed and looked between the papers and Crane.

“What do you mean?” She whispered, “the things that happened to me?”

“How the Wayne family ruined both of our lives.” His voice was slow and dark like syrup and it took her a few seconds to process what he was saying, what he was implying. She looked down at the folders again and took a step closer. When she reached his desk, she scanned the documents with blurred vision. “What… what do they say?” She rubbed her eyes and stepped away. Crane took the first folder, his jaw clenched.

“Y/L/N, Y/N was born into the Arkham family, the founders of Arkham Asylum. Her parents were known to have had numerous disagreements with the Wayne family over the inappropriate use of the criminal justice system by moving people whom the Waynes didn’t like into the asylum. The Arkhams did not believe that the Waynes should have had the right to imprison their political enemies and opponents and tried to inform the public. The message to the press and other government officials was intercepted by the Wayne administration and destroyed, though one draft of the letter was salvaged from the Arkham’s trash and archived in the police station, it was never investigated. The Arkhams, both in their early 30s, were found dead a week later in their home. With no other living relatives, the baby, named Matilda Y/N Arkham by her parents, was discreetly handed over to Gotham orphanage by people closely connected to Wayne following the murder.” He paused, his eyes flicking up. She had gone white and her hand was clamped around one of the shelves on a nearby bookshelf. She looked up at him when he stopped and tried to speak but nothing came. He still waited, giving her time to speak but when she didn’t, he continued.

“My private investigator found this from government records, including records still housed in Gotham orphanage. They knew this whole time and never informed you even after you became a legal adult. They never investigated your parents’ death and Thomas Wayne, the father of Gotham’s famous playboy, Bryce Wayne, never paid for his actions. He continued to imprison his enemies and without your parents there to run the asylum, it fell into its current state. Nothing I could have done with Arkham would have ever salvaged it after what Wayne’s administration did. So, you see now why I said that we were alike in so many ways. The Wayne’s have too much power even now and someone needs to do something about it.” Crane sighed and walked back to the front of his desk and leaned against it, his eyes lowered to the ground. She inhaled deeply.

“You said something about Wayne ruining both of our lives. What did he do to you?” She asked him, her face red from stress and emotion.

“He killed my mother,” he answered evenly and they met each others’ eyes. Her questioning eyes prompted Crane to explain. “He visited my mother whom he’d been seeing for a few months. She wanted to end things because she had me and I was getting older, and her marriage was starting to improve; she no longer wanted to be his mistress. He got angry and locked her inside her bedroom and then he lit a fire, right outside her room. He left before anyone realized what had happened. They found the key in her bedroom door, still inside the lock, locking the door from the outside. They knew that something had happened and the people in the police department knew the rumors, the secret love affair between Mrs. Crane and Mr. Wayne. There was a whole case but the police commissioner closed it and it was never solved. My father was a good man before that day, my mother’s murder drove him insane. For years it led him to do things that he shouldn’t have done. Wayne had a hand in my fate too, setting up my parents’ demise. I would have ended up alongside you at Gotham’s orphanage if Hobbs and his wife didn’t agree to look after me for those last two years before I was old enough to be my own guardian. Thomas Wayne died when I was eleven and yet, he still managed to kill my father from the grave. So, we’re connected by a chain of discord welded together by the Wayne family.”

“Yes…” he whispered and sank down into a dusty armchair. “So my real name is Matilda Arkham?”

“Technically speaking, yes.”

“And so that means Arkham Asylum also belongs to me?”

Crane smiled with his wide lips closed, “technically.”

Realization clicked in and she couldn’t help but laugh. She covered her mouth with her palms and laughed hysterically. Crane smiled down at his feet and scratched the side of his face. Though she suddenly realized that her entire life had been a lie, she laughed because now, everything made sense. And by some disturbed twist of fate, she and Crane had been bound to be together all because of Thomas Wayne. She pulled herself from the chair and looked at the family picture included in one of the folders. Crane leaned over her shoulder, breathing calmly against her neck. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she studied the picture. Lying in the arms of a woman with strawberry blonde hair, was her. Her father held her foot in between his fingers, smiling down at her with brown eyes. She’d seen their portrait in passing in the asylum and yet she’d never placed why they managed to look so… familiar. They’d been celebrated psychiatrists in their time. She looked at Crane, still leaning against the desk beside her, his blue eyes were trained on her face. So that’s why she had a thing for psychiatrists, she realized.

“Are you ready to hear my plan now,” he asked her with a smirk, “... Miss Arkham?”

#cillian murphy #cillian fanfic #smut #fanfiction #cillian x fem!reader #young cillian murphy #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane x reader #batman begins #dc scarecrow #hot scarecrow #lady arkham #dc comics #dr crane

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fordarkisthesuede · 7 months

Text

Fangs of Ourorboros - Chapter 1 - Ghosts of the Past

Good evening from the east coast! 🌇 I've brought you a proper chapter for you to chew on! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Last time:

Batman was playing a strange murder-mystery game with Joker when an explosion interrupted his investigation...

Rocky Hopper: employed part-time in Xotic Construction, living in a two-bedroom apartment in midtown with a wife and two children. His criminal record showed he was a three-time parolee by the age of thirty-six for armed robbery, assault, DUI, and theft. No known association to any Gotham-based gang. An unremarkable small-time criminal Batman previously noted for rubbing shoulders with Oswald Cobblepot during his time in Gotham two years ago, before The Penguin was taken into custody.

To anyone else, such a fact was a mere blip on the radar. But to Bruce - to Batman - it was a flashing yellow mark on the edge of his mind.

Richard Hartright. Vicki Vale. Penguin. One string leading to another on a cork board collage with a muddled picture of why.

The GCPD touted BlackGate Penitentiary as a fortress; a prime example of modern security in spite of the building’s age.

Heh. Not for Batman. The nighttime security were like any other lookout team, conversing on their radios or over their shoulders while paying mild attention to their surroundings.

It was practically a cake walk. Bruce grappled up to the roof and rolled over the railing with barely a swish of his cape. The guard by the rooftop door jabbered about the Knights’ chances in the league this year over the two-way as Bruce crept behind him and squirted all-purpose oil between the crack in the door where the hinges should be.

The door opened silently, and Bruce slipped in, breathing in the familiar smell of dusty hallways as he walked on the edges of his feet down the concrete steps.

Oswald would be in the C Block. It took no time to get down to the third floor. Even less time to find the section, painted in chunky white letters on the floor and wall as if the heavy metal door to the place was easy to miss.

The security lock was a simple hand scanner, meant to use the layout and size of the hand instead of a key or passcode. Bruce pulled out the luminous spray normally reserved for crime scenes and sprayed the scan bed. The Batsuit’s gauntlets scanned the imprint, and with a few taps on the key generator Tiffany had perfected last year, all he had to do was place his hand over the sensor and wait while for the lights to turn green.

The bolt lock slid open with a sudden thunk, and Bruce slipped into Cell Block C.

Three stories of prison cells stretched open before him, smelling like a public bathroom in the Narrows. He could see each barred door had two beds embedded into the walls, with only just enough room for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, bringing to mind a twisted shoebox diorama.

One long catwalk weaved throughout the place, spotted with rust and bits of peeling paint. The rush of air as he whizzed past rows of metal bars was only slightly satisfactory when he was still wincing at the slight sound of the metal clang of the grapple teeth hitting the railing.

The cell door was easy to unlock - all the doors were connected to an online grid for routine automatic unlocking, but had a manual override to use a physical key. A simple signal jammer was all that was needed to fool the cell into thinking it lost connection to the controller and let Bruce pick the lock.

Despite the cowl, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He was being watched, but he wasn’t sure by who. At the very least, he knew an alarm hadn’t been tripped; his radio tuner wasn’t picking up any calls to action inside the prison…

The lock opened with too loud of a cha-clink. Oswald stirred.

The upper bunk was empty, despite the rumpled sheets. At least Bruce wouldn’t have to worry about potentially fighting off two prisoners at once.

Bruce chose to stay away from the cot to speak; there was no need to overstep and put either of them in harm’s way yet. He kicked the cot’s mattress instead to get attention.

Oswald jerked upward with a garbled sort of shout, flinching to press his back against the wall.

The direct approach was best. “Why did you want to destroy Richard Hartright’s files?”

Oswald glared at him, shoulders sagging as he relaxed into a sitting position. “Should’ve known you’d sneak your sorry-winged ass in here to give me the business one of these days. Or did the Commissioner give you your own Bat-pass?”

“I know Rocky Hopper worked for you,” Bruce said flatly, “The bomb he was setting in Hartright’s filing cabinet went off early. He’s dead.”

Oswald’s eyebrow rose a fraction, eyes widening in a sort of surprise that he was trying and failing to suppress. “Plenty of people worked for me,” he said with practiced casualty, casting a look at the cell door and waving away the issue. “I don’t care what they do with their spare time nowadays.”

Bruce had enough. He grabbed Oswald by the collar and hoisted him up to be more on his level. “I don’t play games,” he growled out, “You worked for Vicki Vale - you knew Richard was one of her sources during her time at the Gazette. One of your affiliates blew up his office with enough C4 to kill him. Why were you after him?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the detective,” Oswald scowled.

Bruce punched him hard in the jaw, holding him up so he didn’t fall back into the wall. “What did he have that you didn’t want getting out?”

“You can’t hurt me in a way that matters,” Oswald scowled in disgust, “You think I don’t see this every day in this hellhole?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. A clanging noise came from outside the cell.

“SHUT UP or I’m going to come over there and chew your FACE off, Penguin!” came a gravelly hiss of a voice from a nearby cell. “SOME of us are trying to SLEEP!”

“Your neighbor sounds mad,” Bruce taunted, “Tell me what I want to know and maybe I won’t wake up the whole block.”

Bruce tossed him to the floor, only too late feeling his cape pull along with the motion. His shoulder smacked into the wall as Oswald skittered out the open door.

He chased after him, boots clanging on the metal of the catwalk, priming a bat-bola to throw. Oswald barely reached the staircase when the weighted rope whipped through the air and wrapped itself around the man’s calves in the nick of time.

Oswald hit the floor with a loud, reverberating thunk. Bruce was able to grab an arm and pin it around his back as he leaned over him, out of arm’s reach.

“You bastard, you’re no different from the pigs that run this place!” Oswald spat, voice echoing around the cell block.

“Why did Richard pose a threat to you?” Batman asked again, feeling more eyes on him. He could see several prisoners had risen in their beds. One was already pressed against the bars of the cell for a better look. He pulled on the arm he was holding, just enough to hurt.

“Because he’s just like your lot,” Oswald grunted, “Sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong. Vicki’s worth ten of him.”

Bruce’s brain buzzed, trying to parse through what information he had. The private detective’s only link to Oswald was through Vicki Vale; he had nothing to do with Penguin’s crew, before or after his arrest, that Bruce knew of. The mention of Penguin’s old leader in the present tense was jarring. “Vicki Vale’s been dead for two years.”

Penguin gave a light wheeze of a chuckle. “Killed her yourself, did you?” he taunted, “Buried her in a shallow grave with the last rites? They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?”

Bruce had seen the rocks fall as he guided Alfred out of the underground catacomb. He’d doubled back later, on the off chance he could find her, and found the chamber practically blocked off by the collapse. There were no other tunnels, no secret rooms, no pockets she could have climbed out of. He’d checked.

But it bothered him all the same.

He could hear the inmates start to blabber and howl as he dragged Oswald ‘The Penguin’ Cobblepot back to his cell by his feet.

Body slam him next! Body slaaam!

Not so tough now, are ya Peng’? Ha ha, oh man!

Fuck you! Fuck you, you hear me, Bat? Fuck you!

Let me out - I’ll drag your ass around the block, Bat!

Come on, Penguin, get up and grab him-!

You think you’re so tough, you’re nothing without that fuckin’ armor!

He ignored it all, leaving Oz to nurse his wounds on the floor of his cell, winding the bola back up after he slammed the door behind him.

Deep down, he knew getting information out of Oz was a longshot to begin with. Any more questions would be met with more stubborn non-answers. He would have to check Oz’ mail, visitors, cell-mates, anything he could have used to send out the message to his cronies.

He leapt up and over the railing to glide back down to the first floor, feeling the eyes of awakened prisoners all around.

“Hey, Batman” a smooth, familiar voice called from his right. “You got a taste for beating up bird-dudes or what? I’d think you know he doesn’t like to talk about work.”

Bruce barely gave Roman Sionis and his cocky little smirk a second glance.

“I could tell you what he was up to,” Roman added.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce ignored the cacophony of noise as he left the way he came in, the sound of the hinge on the metal door far more noticeable now that he was in a hurry to leave. “I doubt it,” Bruce muttered.

🜁

The bare facts stared out at him through black and white scans and data retrievals on the Batcomputer’s oversized screens.

Rocky Hopper communicated strictly through text messages. Simple instructions of picking up the bomb and a key from a contact he’d meet on the street, dropping it off in Detective Hartright’s office, and flicking the switch to let the countdown start. Said contact was never named, explained as being able to recognize Rocky on sight.

Oswald Cobblepot’s outgoing mail took a long time to be scanned and approved, up until a few months ago. Most likely he or someone who worked for him was paying off one of the officers in charge of the mail room. At first, the letters used an easy code of the first letter in each sentence spelling out a short command. Silence person, pick up this, sell that, mostly to one Cameron Van Cleer. As far as Bruce could tell, Cameron was one of Oz’ one-time cronies that - judging by the social media profile Bruce had gathered - had sympathies to the Children of Arkham. Oz must have entrusted them with a financial account, judging by shorthand instructions to buy and sell actual stock as well. No mention of Detective Hartright.

All of this would be easily digested, if it weren’t for the last line in the last letter to Cameron: Our fair lady will be reaching out to you.

The incoming mail told a similar story of back-and-forth mob work disguised as friendly exchanges. And then there were the others. Arriving every week or two, short and to the point, like telegrams more than anything.

I know you must be surprised to hear from me. I know I’ve been away a long time, but I’ve kept a close eye on things. I can see things haven’t changed since I left… Wayne Enterprises is still standing, to my surprise. But I can see our friends aren’t all gone. Can I still count you as a friend, even though it’s been so long? -Your fair lady

Then, two weeks later:

I’m glad we’re still friends after all this time. I have so many things I’d like to share with you! Do you remember Julian Day ? He had a whole article in the Gazette on page 4! -Your fair lady

Bruce checked the date against the Gazette’s webpage. Julian Day was noted for causing a car crash that ended in his death and the destruction of a popular corner restaurant. The coroner’s report Bruce pulled up noted no street drugs in his system. One patron said they thought they saw someone else exit from the backseat of the vehicle, but no other person was found on CCTV.

And then the last letter, dated a week ago:

We need to catch up in person. I’ve got a little place downtown above the Iceberg Lounge. (I heard Roman Sionis tried to buy it once!) I’d love for you to visit… Drop me a line when you can. -Your fair lady

Bruce felt the impossible gnaw at him. But the strings he had were so easily put together. Oswald had been corresponding with Lady Arkham, despite the fact that Vicki Vale was buried under the rubble of Arkham’s underground catacombs.

She was dead.

Had to be.

He’d checked.

They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?

Bruce tried to breathe steadily into his hands. His elbows were sore from the near-constant perch on the metal console as he read and re-read. He sank further to rest his forehead on his arms, breathing in the cave air as he tried to focus.

He saw that pile of rubble in his mind’s eye. Broken stone bricks were piled high in a seemingly endless mountain in the cool, musty darkness below Arkham. He moved through it, stepping on only the largest, sturdiest pieces to prevent an avalanche. Bruce climbed over a fallen column. The snakes winding around the stone seemed to shift in the light.

Even in the basement, he could feel the pull of the asylum on his psyche. The toxic energy that seeped into walls from years of madness and undoubtable abuse stirred down there like dust, swirling at his feet and seeming to stick to the edges of his cape. He tried to ignore it as he walked over the broken stone to the spot he saw Vicki last.

The opening she had tried to get to was completely sealed now. There was nothing but dead ends among long-dead bodies everywhere else underground.

He could see the top of the air-pulse weapon Lady Arkham had wielded sticking out between two stones. He reached down and pulled, straining against the rock until they started to tumble away; the weapon pulled free as if it were Excalibur, almost making him fall back.

His drone was too large to send into the fresh gap. He stooped down to shine his light into the crevice, dust swirling up to meet him and cover him in Arkham before could glimpse the gloved hand reaching up to snatch his cape, jerking his shoulder, trying to pull him down deeper into-

Bruce snapped awake, jolting in his seat. When had he fallen asleep…?

“Morning, honey-buns,” John greeted from behind, placing a cup of coffee next to Bruce’s elbow, “Rough night?”

Bruce watched a freshly dressed John lean his hip against the massive desk, taking a sip from his silly ‘clown juice’ mug with an expectant stare. He felt his mood sink upon realizing he hadn’t seen him since last night. He’d seemed surprised at the explosion interrupting the odd murder-game he’d made, but… He looked awfully casual right now, if not a little mad.

“I mean, I assume,” John added, squinting accusingly at Bruce, “you forgot to text me what happened.”

Ah. That explained the mood. “It was pretty long,” Bruce answered, his mouth tasting like old beef jerky. “I didn’t even know I fell asleep.”

“I could tell,” John teased with a snide little smirk, moving to sit on the flat surface so he could swing his feet in the air. “I haven’t seen you fall asleep in the suit before.”

The square cut of emerald and tiny amethysts on either side winked at Bruce from John’s ring finger, bringing Bruce back into the reality of the present. He pushed the thoughts of John’s involvement away, choosing to trust his fiancé and figuring that his mood was entirely due to Bruce keeping him in the dark. He finally gave into the urge to let his gloved fingers rest softly on the plum-purple corduroy covering John’s thigh. “That’s because someone keeps goading me out of it.”

John giggled, looking pleased. “If you weren’t so shy about mixing the other halves of our lives together, I wouldn’t have to.”

Bruce could feel the little smile in the corner of his mouth quirking up as John’s hand covered his. He relented in finally taking in some of the steaming caffeine John had brought him. The smooth bitter heat steeped into his chest, bringing him partially back to life.

“Soooo…Penguin, huh?” John craned his neck up to the monitor behind him, taking Bruce a little off guard. “Was he playing ‘Emperor’ in prison, or is it just another concrete jungle?”

Truthfully, Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of Oz’ predicament. “Hard to say,” he said, “He got out of the cell for a few minutes, but some of the prisoners had no problem with me fighting him. His neighbor certainly didn’t care about who he was talking to.”

“Could just be all that testosterone and sleep deprivation crammed in those two-by-fours,” John commented knowingly, legs moving steadily in the air, “Any fight gets ‘em all riled up! As you well know,” he said with a sly little grin.

Bruce remembered Zaaz’s fight with the orderly back in Arkham all too well. The orderly survived, but Bruce had felt the guilt of leaving him to fend for himself while he made the all-important call compound and sit in him for a long time.

“Could be.”

“Those little letters sure are interesting, aren’t they? I’m guessing you didn’t find the replies.”

Bruce leaned back in the chair, looking at the whole picture again. “No. He must have had an in-between deliver them. I know he must have had someone in the mailroom on his payroll.” He stared at the offending final letter, pulled up square among the rest. “That last one bothers me.”

“Right? It’s hard to picture The Penguin meeting up with a zombie in a club! Ha ha ha haa! Ah, doesn’t that sound like a bad horror flick?”

Such a silly thing to say should have quelled the thought still pecking at the back of his skull. It only left a bad taste in his mouth. Coffee wasn’t washing it away.

The smile slipped from John’s face. “...she is dead, isn’t she? I remember that pile of rubble looked pretty big on T.V…”

For a moment, Bruce thought about shrugging it off with silence. Or just saying that Oz mentioning her couldn’t be a coincidence. But John had asked the question that kept casting shadows over everything else. And if there was anyone else who could look at those, it was John. “I never found her body,” he answered, staring hard at the digitized letter, “No one did.”

“Sooo…there’s a slim chance she’s back in Gotham, then,” John said with a squint, pinching his index finger and thumb together in front of Bruce’s face, the emerald on his ring glinting, “I mean, IF we put aside the fact she was likely heavily injured and would have to hitch a ride back to the city, where everyone definitely recognizes her, AFTER getting out of the secret underground chamber and swimming back to Gotham from the island.”

It was the kind of thing he’d hear from him across the visiting table at Arkham. He wanted to believe him. “It’s still a chance,” he said, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something important, “If it’s not her, then someone’s going out of their way to convince us it is.”

“There is another possibility.” John paused to take a loud slurp from his mug. “He’s trying to throw you off your rhythm.”

“To what end?”

“Who says there has to be an end?” John shrugged, a smile on the corners of his cherry-red mouth, “If I was really mad at you - like, ree-ally mad - ‘you betrayed me’ mad - I’d do it just to mess with you.”

Even now that they were engaged, he found himself not doubting that at all. John sometimes enjoyed needling him for little to no reason other than getting a reaction. Maybe, if John were different… If their lives had gone differently, then…

He swallowed the dark thought down with coffee and a non-committal hum as the cell phone left on the console buzzed. Once, twice, and on the third Bruce finally deigned to answer.

“Morning, Iman.”

“Bruce,” came Iman’s no-nonsense voice, “you need to get down to the office.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on playing hooky,” Bruce said dryly.

“A few of my old colleagues are here,” Iman replied, her tone sharp and stable, “talking to our security team. They’re going to have a conference call with a few of our other branches. And I have a feeling they’ll want to talk to you personally.”

“Great. That’s all I need.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt he needed to know: “What are you doing there so early, anyway?”

A slight pause. “I wanted to catch the Quick ‘Fast truck again,” she answered sheepishly, “I figured I would just come in and get some work done afterward.”

Ah. The early bird catches the pancake-burger, Bruce thought to himself. “Right. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” she added, “they’ll likely put a tail on you after they talk with you here, but they might have one already watching the house.” A beat passed as he considered the small frame of time he might have unobserved. “I’ve gotta run. Any longer in here and they’ll suspect I’m talking to you.”

John set his mug down by the fabric flowers he’d made Bruce while he was still in Arkham. “Bad news? Let me guess – our latest wedding planner’s gone rogue.”

“No. Worse than that.”

“Good; Kimberly might not have much going for her, but after the last two…”

“John.”

John mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“The Agency is back in town. Some of them are waiting for me at the office.”

“The Agency?” Tiffany piped up from behind, “What do they want?”

“I don’t know yet,” Bruce said over his shoulder, “but considering they aren’t coming to the house, and are conversing with Wayne Enterprises’ entire security team, I’d say they’re waiting for someone to come in or out of one of our buildings.”

John was worrying the corner of his bottom lip as he looked at the steel floor, eyes darting over the squares like they held all the paths such a situation could go.

“John,” he said as gently as possible, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you don’t have to go to work if you don’t want to. I can talk to your social worker-”

“No!” he said suddenly, snatching hold of Bruce’s arm. He seemed to realize how frantic he seemed, because he quickly covered it by giving the armor plating a couple of pats and trying for a smile. “No. I’ll go. I shouldn’t…” The smile wavered. “I don’t want to be alone here,” he muttered honestly.

“We’re going to have to get you to work early, then. It’s that or dropping you off at St. Dymphna’s…”

Tiffany was already taking over the console, pulling up the 3D-generated image of the bomb. “Have you looked through this?”

“Not quite.”

Tiffany pulled away the layers of it, eyes traveling over the interior. The drone cameras had taken the pictures of the pieces, and Bruce and the BatComputer worked together to piece it back like a three-dimensional puzzle. He didn’t pay as much attention to its construction as he should have; he had been combing over Oz’ mail not long before and thinking about any other possible explanation than the one that kept popping up.

“So, you missed the partial left behind?” Sure enough, a partial print of what might have been from the middle or index finger was barely visible on one of the inner slices of metal, somehow not entirely burned off. If Bruce hadn’t been present for the explosion, he wouldn’t wonder if it was somehow planted for him.

Tiffany was already running a cross-check on the criminal database with one of her shortcut commands. “That’s not like you.” She squinted at him with a tilt of her head. “Are you okay?”

“I think the lure of the criminal chase was clearly too much last night; he fell asleep down here,” John excused for him.

Tiffany pulled a face. “I hope that’s not a euphemism for something.”

“He means I was distracted by case details,” Bruce butted in, “And I did fall asleep. But more importantly-”

“You need to go,” Tiffany and John said in unison.

John pointed at Tiffany in delight. “Ooh-hoo, jinx!”

“I can easily look into this,” Tiffany pointed to the rapidly growing list of names, “and still be on time.”

“And I’ll help!” John gestured to himself importantly, “Four eyes are better than two! Um, as long as you don’t mind driving me to work on your way,” John added, casting Tiffany a friendly look.

Tiffany pursed her lips in mock-thought. “Hmm… Alright. But only because I know I’m getting a seat of honor at your guys’ wedding. And this is a huge list.”

Bruce felt the usual itch to just take the important work with him. He knew he could only look at it at red lights, and knew he’d be thinking about it nonstop until he reached his office. But with the Agency back in town and speaking with his security team of all things, the sense of dread he’d felt last night was building higher.

Something was going to happen.

And for once, Bruce felt that he shouldn’t try to go it alone.

“I expect to see you,” he pointed to Tiffany, “in the engineering offices by 9 A.M. sharp. I want a brief in my office at 9:30.” Tiffany seemed to stand a little straighter, and the smile on the edges of her mouth became more pronounced.

“And you,” he directed at John, who was already looking bright-eyed, “better be at All Stitched Up Alterations by 8:30. And you’re going to stay there for your whole shift, go back to St. Dymphna’s with the others, and wait until I pick you up at 5:30.”

“Sheesh, I leave early one time to follow a lead for your case, and you act like I’m some delinquent,” John poked with a toothy grin. “I’d make a joke about detention with you if Tiffy wasn’t here.”

Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, please don’t.”

John giggled at her as he brushed off his pants like he’d gotten them dirty just by sitting. “Okay, Bruce, I promise I’ll be good,” he half-sang, “but I better be updated during the day this time.”

John looped his arms around Bruce’s neck and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but his lips didn’t make contact.

“Don’t think any of this stops our game, Bruce,” John whispered in a low voice, the corner of his smiling mouth brushing over the fine hairs. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was the words or the soft movement that made the spike of heat in his gut. John’s lips barely brushed his skin in a soft peck. “Don’t make me sleep alone.”

Bruce felt John’s nails dig slightly into his back with the last word, and then John pulled himself away like nothing happened. “Have a good day!” he added brightly. “Uh, you know, as much as you can.”

His heart thudded with the small rush of adrenaline at the threat still burning against his ear. It was unreasonable to try and play this…murder-game Joker had established while Bruce and Batman had enough on their plates.

“I’ll be waiting,” John added, tilting his head to look at Bruce through his lashes with a challenging sort of smirk. The kind normally reserved for when he was moments away from being bound and on his knees.

Bruce reminded himself that this unreasonable, manipulative, handsome sneak of a man was who he was choosing to marry. He wouldn’t promise him anything; he couldn’t. But he wouldn’t deny him, either. If he was this hell-bent on playing, it was clearly important to him.

“I’ll…try.” Bruce heard the cape of his suit swish across the metal tiles as he made his way to the elevator.

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Author Notes: Finally, we're at our proper start, having returned to the classic TellTale formula! The Whole Nine Yards sure was a nice romantic break in the series, but things can't stay that way forever. (If you hadn't read it, no worries, I'll summarize for you: Bruce and John talked about their feelings and further built their relationship, boinked a lot, Alfred left again, and Bruce spontaneously proposed to John on a romantic sunset-lit beach.) I'm sure you realize that our return to base means "choices" have an impact again - for example, if you romanced Selina throughout and only befriended John, it would be her waking Bruce but John butting his way in partway to deliver his last whispered lines with a hug…minus the threat of sending Bruce to the couch, of course. Selina would then stick around to help next chapter as well, but only so far. A villainous Joker would have had made a real crime scene for our prologue and thus made his game a lot more pressing of an issue and a way more reasonable excuse to follow up on it. (No matter who he romances, Bats can't stay away from Joker's ploys.)

Y'all know by now that I love jokes in my work as much as I love making clues. Penguin's dead goon, Rocky Hopper, is both! The name comes from the rockhopper penguin, which is famous for it's bushy "brows", weird spikey mullet-like "haircut", and red eyes. We also have a callback to Season 4, The Tolls of Justice, with Iman's excuse for showing up to work early - Quick 'Fast (like "quick breakfast"), the mysterious food truck that eludes John and home of his coveted Pancake Burger! Apparently, Iman tried it and liked it enough to chase after it. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, there's a short story taking place before this where Iman and John hunt down the truck together… But that's for another day.

Next time, we'll see things from a certain bird-girl's point of view. After all, her choices matter as much as the rest, and she really doesn't get enough love around here. Until then...thank you, as always, for joining me on this journey! (●´□`)♡

#fangs of ouroboros #telltale batman #batman the telltale series #telltale batjokes #juce #the perseverance project #oswald cobblepot #bruce wayne #john doe #iman avesta #tiffany fox #vicki vale #lady arkham #the penguin #yes that is an alchemical symbol for a spacer #hmm I wonder who Penguin's neighbor is?

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