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Chapter Text

Dear Jonathan Crane,  

We  hope this letter finds you well.  

Jonathan Crane sat in the swivel chair he had taken a particular liking to in the past few months. Sure, it may have been dusty and overused, the arms dirty from years of wear and poor upkeep, but he wasn’t too picky when it came to uncommon luxuries such as this. He enjoyed turning himself ever so slightly with a gentle push of his foot whenever he needed to review his notes, chewing on the end of his pen as a force of habit. It was comfortable, and to the former doctor it had definitely a welcome to see it still untouched upon his recent breaking out of Arkham Asylum. 

However, on this day, he was still, sitting straight up despite the backing of the chair there to support his rather light weight. Eyes narrowed behind thinly framed reading glasses, he read over the letter once over again in his gloved hands once again, having pondered its words for several hours now. He grimaced at the final words, the costume he wore feeling suddenly constricting, despite him designing it specifically with the ability to move freely. His infamous mask lay on his desk atop his notebook; wearing it had become too much when out of the public eye, and right now he just needed the time to breathe. 

He needed to be alone. 

He needed some time. 

A knock on the door sounded, and from the way it thunderously beat, he knew it could only be his guard. He gave so curt sigh, deciding he had been given enough time to think this over, and promptly stuffed the folded up paper in a spot of his notebook. He took only a second to close his eyes and rub his temples, remembering to breathe. He then removed his reading glasses and put on his burlap mask and brimmed hat. “Come in,” he ordered firmly, closing the notebook and folding his fingers in his lap. 

The door was slowly opened, and in poked the burly man that was Rocky, the thug he had assigned to keep watch over the entrance. “Yes, Rockwell?” he hummed, watching him carefully from the eyes of his mask. “The Mad Hatter’s here,” Rocky informed him, looking back at what was undoubtedly the familiar Englishman behind him. “He keeps asking for a ‘Hare’. I assume he’s talking about you.”  

“Oh, Tetch,” Jonathan realized, recognizing the description and coming to a stand. “Let him in. He’s of no current threat to me.” Rocky gave a quick nod and the usual “sure thing mister Scarecrow sir”, before turning back to whomever he had been speaking to. He opened the door fully and let him into the room, standing back to make plenty of room. As expected, Jervis Tetch was the one who was gestured in, the tops of his eyes raised in curiosity as he looked back at the thug. “A few manners that one has,” he chirped, turning his attention towards his peer. “I’ll never understand how you’re able to get them to behave in such a way.” 

“Fear,” Scarecrow said simply, his voice taking the usual darker tone when talking about his preferred subject. “It’s all about fear, Hatter, for those who control fear maintain control itself.” He gestured to the room off to the side, where his chemistry table was laid out so they could talk elsewhere. He continued to talk as he entered with the Englishman. “Much unlike those zombies you prefer to keep around. Fear is what grants the results I desire.” Jervis gave a small “hmph”, quickly going over to the edge of the table to watch the doctor work on his toxins. “Well then, Hare, I believe a demonstration should be in order. Maybe not this unbirthday, maybe not the next, but anytime you may I would like to see it in action. These brutes never learn to listen to the poor Hatter, oh no. They joke and they jest and they jeer, but they never listen.” He looked up at Jonathan with a furrowed brow. “Though it pushes me to ponder why you have only one. And it’s the same one from my last visit, too! Quite the surprise that is; others replace placed pawns, but your place keeps pawns in place so they won’t be replaced.” 

Crane merely hummed in slight amusement as he observed the chemicals bubble. “Hatter, we only just got out of Arkham. I’d prefer a low profile for now, so just one will suffice. Rocky’s proven to be fairly loyal help so far, able to keep my research well protected until I got back, so I suppose he’s worth keeping around for now. It’s difficult to find proper henchmen who aren’t a couple apples away from a full bushel, especially when they all keep dying.” He lowered the temperature and mixed a few of the readied chemicals until the concoction turned a sickly orange. He looked back down at Hatter, waving a hand to ask for answers. “So, I can assume what brought you here was…?” 

“Oh the little plot we formulated together, of course,” Hatter finished for him. “We spent such a tremendous amount of time pondering that dear thing that it’s all I could think about, really. As soon as I was settled, I came here first thing.” 

Crane paused in his work, letting out a small sigh as he removed his hat. “Hatter, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel on our plans.” The Hatter’s displeasure was immediately shown. The Scarecrow recognized a possible violent reaction. “I know, I know, it’s a bit too late to tell you, but trust me, it’s not on any poor planning on my part. Due to a small setback, I need to be out of town for a short while, maybe a week or two, so you may just have to hold off until then.” Of course, knowing his peer, Hatter was more than capable of doing just that. Jervis certainly seemed curious, though, as Jonathan had expected, and knew there would be inquiries abound. 

“Out of town? Now what in all of Wonderland could drag the March Hare from the tea party?” the smaller man questioned, his brow furrowed as the other loaded the chemical into a few of his weapons. “And all with preparation involved, I see?” The doctor saw no benefit in hiding most of the truth. “I’m unsatisfied with a few aspects of my toxins,” the doctor replied. “As hard as I’ve worked on it, I believe Batman may be attempting to work out a cure for it. So, I’m traveling back to my home state to snag a few research notes for the formula my toxin is based off of. The creator is long since dead, so I doubt any notes will be missed. That is all there is to it, really. As subservient it may seem in comparison to our little scheme, I’d rather not have the Bat take us down so easily should he find the proper antidote.” 

Jervis took his words into consideration, playing with the rim of his oversized hat some as he pursed his lips. Overall, though, he seemed to understand where he was coming from quite well. Both needed the tools of their trade to work fairly well if they were going to survive longer than an hour in an encounter with the Bat. After all, why even make an attempt if you’re not giving it your all? “Well that’s a bit of a mimsy pot you have yourself trapped in,” Hatter frowned softly. “As crestfallen I may be by this sudden turn of our plans, I completely understand.” Crane gave a slight nod, glad that the other had not made such a big deal out of it. “Good. I knew you would understand.” 

“And so I will come with you.” 

The doctor blinked, pausing for a moment in his tracks and looking over at the rather proud Jervis. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he rasped slowly, taking his attention away from his chemicals. The Hatter let out a soft chortle, grinning in slight amusement. “I said I will be coming with you.” 

“This… is more of a solo venture,” the other explained, still taken aback by the offer, although there certainly was a cap to his surprise. Hatter never was one to stray into absurd ideas. “Oh poppycock,” Jervis dismissed. “That’s a long drive, don’t you know? And with our plan set back, I believe it would give us more time to smoothen out the details.” He closed his eyes, smiling to himself. “Besides, we do need to lay low, don’t we? The best choice, of course, would to be to get out of town for a few days. After all, you don’t want to come back with me in Arkham once again, would you?” 

He did have a point there. As much as Jonathan preferred to do this alone, Jervis wasn’t the worst of company a man could have, and they certainly did need to finish up the details of their plot against the Dark Knight. Jervis also wasn’t terrible company; he’d much rather be stuck with another intellectual, even if he was an erratic one. He knew Tetch’s quirks inside and out, and fortunately his meticulous observations of him and other criminals had worked in his favor. If need be, he could always kick the man to the side of the road; while Scarecrow wasn’t the most skilled in combat, Hatter was practically defenseless without his devices, so if anything the milliner was putting himself in more danger than Jonathan was by letting him come. However, there were a few quirks that needed to be worked out.  

“I plan to leave in only a few short hours. What about your things?” he questioned, which Jervis retuned with a gesture to the door. “I can retrieve what I may need quite quickly, though it’s not as though I have much of that. I keep most necessities on me.” 

“Necessities being?” 

“My book, my hat, a few cards, and tea.” Jervis opened his coat, digging through a pocket before pulling out and dangling a pocket watch from a thin chain. “And this, of course. Couldn’t leave the party without it, lest I be late.” 

“Of course,” Jonathan sighed to himself, taking only subtle irritation from the other’s response. “And you’re willing to spend an entire car ride with me?” Tetch gave a visible roll of his eyes, an uncharacteristic move for him. “Of course, of course, why wouldn’t I?” 

This would either turn out to be a mistake or of help to him. Tetch’ technology could be used to slip out of particularly tight spots if need be. Should the former be the case, however, he reminded himself there would be no harm in leaving him there. Well, no harm to himself. Jervis would be understandably upset, but Crane knew he would eventually be forgiven despite his misdeeds. That was just how Jervis was. 

“Fine, you may come, then,” he complied, watching the other’s expression light up quickly. He had always found it curious to see the Hatter’s moods flick to upbeat and happy in such a quick manner, though given his excitable nature, he wasn’t ever surprised. What did he ever have to be so happy about all the time? It was a welcomed sight, nonetheless, even if his constant and quick changes in mood were a hazard. Jonathan had to  always remind himself that Jervis was still a very dangerous man, especially when off his prescribed medication. While they had originally moved past any grudges held toward each other, Crane never let it be forgotten that he was able to describe what losing control of his own thoughts and cognitive functions was like. 

“I leave in just a few hours. Most likely around dawn,” he sighed, picking up his scythe from the corner. “But if you’re going to be traveling with me, you have to remember that we need to keep a low profile. We cannot have our plans ruined if we’re suddenly recognized.” He took off his burlap mask and heaved the staff of the scythe over his shoulder to rest there. “So, for the entire trip there and back, you will only know me as ‘Jonathan’ and I will refer to you as ‘Jervis’. Understood?” 

Hatter gave a small grimace. “You don’t want me calling you what you are?” he questioned, brow raised. “Unfortunately that’s the way it has to be,” Jonathan replied, knowing using formal names would keep Jervis stable in terms of his mental state. He seemed irritated that it meant the breaking of his own delusions, but dutifully nodded and removed his hat. “Understood, Jonathan. However, what about in case of an emergency?” Crane paused and took a moment to look at his scythe. “This is a simple car ride from here to there, so I doubt anything too dire will happen along the way. But, just in case, I’m bringing my weapons and my Scarecrow outfit. You’re free to do the same, but don’t expect anything exciting. So no references to Wonderland in public, no Hatter while we talk to others, and for the love of all things detrimental in life, no made up words. I refuse to be caught just because you can’t realize that ‘frabjous’ isn’t a word.”  

Jervis gave the other a quick glare, another uncharacteristic action for him. “We’ve argued about this countless times, Jonathan; frabjous is a legitimate word!” Crane just rolled his eyes and put on his mask and hat again before walking out of the room. “Just go get your things before I leave you. I expect we will converse, but I refuse to argue about this in the car.” The neurologist huffed, but nodded and trotted out of the room and to the exit.  

Crane looked over at Rocky, who stood guard near the doorway. “I will be leaving for a week or two. No one gets in or out, understood? If I see anything missing, I’ll have you gassed. If everything’s as I left it, I’ll double your payment for a week.” Rocky gave a curt “sure thing mister Scarecrow sir”, and with that, Jonathan went to get ready, grabbing his notebook. He grabbed the loose paper tucked within the pages, reading it once over. With a small grimace, he went to pack up his chemicals.

Chapter Text

It has come to our attention that you had gone uninformed due to your status at Arkham Asylum.  

“It means ‘delightful’, Jonathan!” 

“Oh please, any jumble of letters can have connotations if you just place one in a book. That doesn’t make it a real word.” 

Jonathan finished placing his scythe in the trunk, covering the weapon and a duffle bag filled with the tools of their trades with a large black tarp. Should they be lucky, they wouldn’t have to remove it. He shut he trunk with a slam, moving to the driver’s seat. “Now we are finished talking about this.” 

“But-!”  

Jonathan held a hand up, bringing Jervis to a stop. “Ah ah! Another word about it and I’m leaving you here.” The smaller man snapped his mouth shut, working his jaw tightly for a moment before relaxing and moving to the passenger side door. After briefly packing necessities, the two were ready to head off, but Jervis’ path was blocked by a small murder of crows. He froze in his tracks, noticing they were uncomfortably close to the passenger side of the car. He tried to think nothing of it, but couldn’t help the uncomfortable feeling that welled up inside of him as the crows took notice of him, calling out angrily as he approached. “How rude,” he scoffed, taking a step back. “They weren’t here before.” Crane looked over in his direction, not phased by the complaint. “Well it’s about to be dawn,” he reasoned, strolling over to the passenger side as well. “Although they are here a bit earlier than usual.” The crows seemed to pay him no mind aside from looking up at him curiously, only hopping to the side to make way for his steps and thus making room for Jervis to enter the car freely. “You’re not frightened of a few birds, are you?” he asked, walking back to the driver’s side. Jervis said nothing, although his mind no doubt wandered to a fearsome Jubjub bird. Jonathan took a quick scope of the car to make sure everything was set before getting in. He looked over at his current partner in crime, taking him in for a moment as he started the car. 

It was odd to see Jervis look so, well, normal. With khaki cargo pants and a navy long-sleeve shirt, he seemed strikingly ordinary. True, Jonathan had almost never seen the man wear anything other than an asylum uniform or his usual Hatter attire, but it was more than just that; he didn’t have that cold malicious glare of the standard inmate, or their snarky, sadistic expressions they freely showed the world. What he did have, however, was his usual look of reverie as he crossed his legs on the seat. His mind was always elsewhere, led astray by voices and tricks of his mind, and it reflected in the way he looked around idly as the car moved out with a more than content expression. He almost seemed happy. Jonathan couldn’t be farther from that. He was always told by inmates and psychiatrists alike that he always gave off an angry and condescending air to the people around him. “Lighten up, Doc!” Harley had once giggled to him. “Ya look like you wanna stab the world!” 

Crane himself was in his normal attire, dressed in jeans and a white button-up. He wanted to seem as inconspicuous as possible, though it wasn’t hard when he was already getting out of town. The only thing that might set off a few radars was the handgun at his hip, but he made sure to keep that covered; that was only for emergencies. He preferred to do things the Scarecrow way, but he couldn’t risk Batman knowing where they were by the police identifying his MO. Removing his reading glasses and tucking them into his shirt pocket, he began his drive, listening to Jervis hum the tune to one of his Wonderland melodies. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat” was his guess; that always seemed to be the Englishman’s favorite. He turned on the radio, knowing a different song would quickly get the melody out of Jervis’ head. 

“So, how far is this home of yours, anyways?” Jervis asked passively as they began their journey. “On the countryside, yes? That’s all I really know.” Jonathan, relaxing in his seat, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he answered. “It’s in Georgia,” he replied. “A fairly lengthy drive, unfortunately. I’d say it’ll last us two days to get there. Three days tops if we run into any inconveniences.” 

Jervis didn’t seem to bothered by that revelation, folding his hand in his lap. “So, I suppose we should get started on our plans, yes?” The other gave a nod, mentally preparing himself for the trek ahead. “Now, where did we leave off in Arkham?” he asked. 

“We were talking about using my cards on the commissioner while you do your experiments around the town,” Jervis answered. 

“Ah yes. Now, if we are to get our hands on the upper ranks of the police force, you’re going to have to make quite a few more of your cards,” the taller male noted. 

“Pah, that’s child’s play, Hare- oh! I mean ‘Jonathan’!” He grinned childishly, making large air quotes with a giggle. 

They continued to discuss the plot of their next endeavor thoroughly as they left town. The sun was only just barely starting to peek over the horizon, painting the cloudy sky a soft blue, inevitably the brightest it would get that day in Gotham with its cloud ever-looming above them. Still, Jonathan wasn’t upset by it, knowing the clouds were clear once they got onto the highway. The two argued over this and that. They weren’t angry at each other, but instead trying to find a middle ground for their plan, both wanting their teamwork to succeed in besting the Dark Knight, or the “Jabberwock” as Tetch had named him. He was sure this plan would be the vorpal blade that would strike the monster down. 

“How soon do you think you could whip up those cards?” Crane asked him, their car entering onto the highway. “Oh, it would only take a good week or so,” the other replied. “We still have to do a headcount of our soon-to-be tea party guests.” He looked out the window, thoughtful. “The only thing we would be missing would be the Dormouse.” 

“We’re not letting Nygma in on it,” Crane stated firmly. “He’ll leave Batman to figure it all out in a matter of hours.” Jervis’ lips twisted in slight dissatisfaction, but he really had to just accept that fact. He looked back over at his partner. “Other than a few cautionary steps, it seems we may have most of it figured out. That didn’t take too long at all.” 

Jonathan gave a slow nod. “Only about an hour, I’d say.” 

The car ride was silent for a few moments. 

“So… what shall we do now?” Jervis asked, looking up at his companion for the trip. Jonathan didn’t take his eyes off the road for a moment as he answered the question. “I continue driving and you do something safe that won’t cause me to crash.” 

The Englishman furrowed his brow, but smiled as he got the idea to lean forward and retrieve his favorite book from the small carry bag he brought with him. The former doctor almost didn’t notice at first, but didn’t hesitate to give the smaller man a funny look upon seeing him start to read. He had half the mind to take the book and toss it into the backseat; he wanted to avoid any chances of Jervis having an episode, but he quickly decided it would be a bit of an overreaction. Instead he decided to focus on the other aspect nagging at his mind. 

“You’re reading in the car?” he asked him with a grimace. Jervis gazed back up at his friend, confused. “You act as though you accuse me of a crime,” he defended. “It’s just a simple book. Don’t you like to read?” 

“Of course I do,” Crane huffed, glancing back at the road for a few moments before turning his attention to the book. “But you’re reading in the car.” Jervis didn’t seem to understand what the big deal was. “Is that some American crime faux pas I’ve had yet to hear of?” he asked, shutting the book and placing it in his lap. “You’re not supposed to read in the car,” Jonathan explained with a roll of his eyes. “It will make you sick.” 

The scientist was quick to let out a chortle, dismissing the warning with a wave of his hand. “Oh, that’s only a myth, my good doctor,” he claimed, denying the other’s fact. “I am a neurologist. I’ve been across the vast corners of Wonderland and stomached every kind of psychoactive drug those royal cardsmen gave me. I’m sure a little reading during a much less than obstreperous car ride won’t do me any such harm.” 

And with that, Jervis reopened his book and began to read the first chapter. 

Within an hour, the two were pulled off to the side of the highway, Jonathan was watching the doubled-over Englishman’s as he tried not to hurl onto the ground. “Take your time,” the Master of Fear sighed, standing by his car as he watched the spectacle. “H-hold on,” Jervis gasped, holding his stomach as he attempted to recover from his motion sickness. He finally stood up straight, covering his mouth and closing his eyes to try and gain control of his surroundings, a feat almost impossible for the Hatter. “Ugh… okay, you were right,” he murmured, trudging back to the car. “I-I feel a bit better now. Let’s just go.” Jonathan smirked to himself, intertwining his thin fingers together behind his back as he followed behind him. “It’s not your fault, Jervis,” he hummed. “Just a lack of experience.” 

“Oh qu-quiet you,” the nauseated Tetch snapped, his sickness making him a tad more irritable. “I can feel you smirking.” He opened the car door and hopped inside, leaning his head back so as to try to ease his ailment. Crane was inside a moment later, unable to help the smug expression that he donned. Things could only get worse from here. 

“Pawn to C3.” 

“Knight to E4.” 

“Rook to A8.” 

“Queen to D8. Checkmate.” 

Jonathan paused, stopping for a moment to review the imaginary board in his head. “Oh damn,” he swore, slumping against his car seat. “I almost had your queen there. It would have been all over for you then.” 

“Almost, but not quite,” Jervis checked to himself, seeming a bit better than he was an hour before. “So tell me, what’s Georgia like, anyhow? I’ve never been, I’m afraid.” 

Crane paused for a moment, memories surfacing in his mind of his time in his home state. “Well, I grew up on the countryside, as you already know,” he told him. “It truly is a beautiful place. Nice and spacious and with trees all about.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel, his eyes flicking up to the sun that peeked out from behind the clearing cluster of clouds. “Definitely with a lot of sun. I’m sure Miss Isley would have adored it; it’s certainly a change from Gotham’s bleak and gray environment.” 

“And how are the people, Jon?” Jervis inquired, noticing Jonathan suddenly grimace at the question. “Are they at least civil?” 

“You could say that,” Crane sighed, keeping his eyes on the road. “They certainly are… country, for lack of a better term.” He tapped the wheel once to draw attention to his next point. “Oh, and as a side note, don’t call me ‘Jon’.” Tetch cocked a brow in confusion. “Just a preference,” the psychiatrist clarified. “Only close friends call me ‘Jon’.” Jervis looked down for a moment, a thoughtful expression donned. “Wait, I’ve never seen anyone call you that before,” he pointed out. Jonathan glanced over at him, forcing a knowing smile before looking back at the road ahead of them. 

The neurologist frowned for a moment, looking out the window. “So… tell me about-“ 

“Let’s twist the subject a little,” the other interrupted, wanting the subject to clear off of him. “Tell me about England. I’ve never been, either.” Jervis watched him for a moment, before giving a slow nod. “Well I suppose one could compare it to Gotham. Though, much less hectic and certainly less skyscrapers. It’s very quaint, I’d say, especially with its buildings and whatnot.” 

Jonathan gave a small “mmhmm” in response to show he was listening. Jervis felt the silence that followed creep in like a toxic gas, seeping in and slowly grating at his nerves. He always fared poorly with silence. He enjoyed noise, and lots of it, and so he concentrated on the sound of rubber against the paved road as they sped down the highway. They were going rather fast, Jervis noted, a good dozen miles over the speed limit. 

“Enjoy a high-speed drive, do we?” he asked, looking up at the doctor. The man in question merely shrugged. “After your little sickness, I’m just trying to make up for lost time.” This caused Jervis to frown immediately, a panicked look coming across his face. Memories from Wonderland came to his mind. 

“Time is lost? What ever happened to Time?” he asked hurriedly. Jonathan let out a sigh, recognizing when the thin line that separated reality and fiction were blurring for the schizophrenic. He had responses ready for almost any Wonderland related crisis, and while he didn’t want to encourage his delusions, outright denying it would lead to a few problems. Instead, the best option was to play along and halt the breaks before they got too far; he knew Jervis too well to try the former. “No no, not at all,” he assured him. “He’s just a bit ahead of us and we need to catch up to him.” This calmed the Englishman’s mind some, as he soon relaxed. 

“That’s good, that’s grand,” he hummed to himself. “Hopefully we catch up to him soon so we don’t have to keep going so fast.” 

“Unfortunately, he may get another good ways away from us,” Jonathan sighed. “We need to stop for gas.” 

Tetch nodded curtly, having no problem with it. 

Before long, they came across a gas station on the side of the highway. He stopped the engine, getting out. “Do you need anything?” he asked, watching his partner exit as well.  

“Hmm… not really- oh! A cuppa tea would be nice,” he told him. “It is six o’ clock, after all.” 

It was actually nearing 10 AM, but who’s keeping track? 

“They don’t have the kind you like, unfortunately. How about sweet tea?” Crane replied, shutting the door and looking at the small station, which was situated right next to a simple diner, currently closed. There wasn’t anyone here besides the lone car that belonged to the owner. He supposed it was previously family-run. 

The expression on the other’s face immediately twisted into displeasure at the offer, but he conceded nonetheless. “Fine. Sweet tea will do,” Jervis huffed. “If they don’t have that, will coffee do?” Jonathan asked, only to receive a disgusted glance from the other. He would take that as a no. “Fill up the tank,” he told him as he entered the small building. 

A quick scan around the inside the station revealed no security cameras. Good, he thought to himself. The thin doctor scanned the single room until he saw the refrigerated section of the store. He quickly grabbed a bottle of sweet tea, about to go about his search, when he stopped to consider the bottle. He tried not to give into his vices, but he couldn’t help himself and quickly grabbed another bottle before looking for one more item. He finally settled on grabbing a bottle of sleeping medication, going up to the front counter where the lone attendant sat. He was an aging man, not yet frail but definitely on the verge of being there in a few years.  

Jonathan silently placed his things on the counter, giving a small “good morning” as he did so. The man returned the greeting and got up to begin checking out his things, before seeming to notice something about his customer. “You from Gotham, right? Where you headed?” he asked, taking the money that was offered. “Texas,” the Gotham resident replied nonchalantly. “Silver City to be exact. Just for family.” The older man coked an brow, before taking a closer look at Jonathan’s face. 

Crane sighed internally, knowing where this was going. With how many times he’d been captured, he was sure he was one of the most recognizable men a hundred square miles around Gotham. The fact that he had recently escaped didn’t help things either. 

 “Hey, you been on TV before?” the man asked, not yet handing Jonathan his things back. The fugitive faked a playful smile, shaking his head. “Haha, don’t I wish. No, I’m afraid I haven’t. You must be mistaken, sir.” With everything checked out, he grabbed the purchased items and began to head out with a simple “good day”. However, he stopped himself, feeling the man’s eyes staring at him intently as he was prepared to leave. 

He let out a tired exhale. 

“Does this establishment get many robberies?” he asked, looking over at the aging man. The owner, of course, seemed taken aback by the question. His hand seemed to trail down behind the counter. “A couple. Maybe one or two every year,” he answered. Jonathan turned to face him. “And does that make you scared? Having a gun pointed at you? The fact that people are willing to hurt you for money? Willing to kill you?” 

The old man glared at him icily, his hand traveling further. “No. Not anymore.” 

“Oh,” Jonathan muttered flatly. “What a shame.” He pulled out his handgun, shooting the man straight in the forehead before he could react, splattering red all across the cigarette case behind him and falling to the floor with a thud. He grimaced and went over to the cash register, taking a big chunk of money and stuffing it into his pocket before leaving. 

Just as his luck would have it, another car was pulling in just as he exited the store. He watched a young woman exit, checking her phone. “Oh you must be joking,” he grumbled to himself, taking a deep breath, but he reminded himself that Scarecrow would be of no use at the moment. 

Jervis, who had just finished filling up the car, jumped in surprise when he heard the gun fire off again. He cocked his head as he watched his friend approach, leaving the collapsed woman lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood. “Here’s your tea,” Jonathan snapped, throwing the bottle over to him, which he only barely caught in time. He swiftly got into the passenger side just as Jonathan entered. “You know, you should let me do all the buying,” he suggested to his taller companion, only to receive a scoff. 

“You must be joking,” the doctor chuckled, already pulling out. “You’re English and with the vocabulary of a dictionary. You’d stick out like a nail in a glass of water." 

Jervis tittered, finding the comment to be amusing. “Oh, I’m afraid you may have a point there, Hare. You may just have a point. I'm sure Wonderland wouldn't mind a few more rabbits down the rabbit hole." Jervis didn’t mind the sideways glare he received, knowing that no matter how hard he dropped the ball, he wouldn’t end up like those two. 

Chapter Text

Because of this , we were unable to get this letter to you on time.  

Jervis took another sip of the sweet tea, smacking his lips a little as he closed the bottle. “I should have just asked for water,” he sighed, shaking his head as he grimaced at the sweet taste. “Why is that? So you can stick your tea bags in there for an impromptu tea party?” Jonathan asked, and although he hadn’t meant for it to be funny, he gained some pleasure from the wince Tetch had in response. “Honestly, Hare, I do think you find me to be some type of heathen,” the Englishman huffed, turning his head away. The doctor was unable to tell if his companion was joking or not, but he would let the ‘Hare’ slip-up pass for now, seeing as he was in a slightly better mood from that little bit of conversation. It wasn’t that he hated the nickname (although a rabbit wasn’t exactly the best nickname for the Master of Fear), but it was more that he didn’t want Jervis to slip up in the future. “Not that I don’t agree,” Jonathan continued, looking at his own near-finished bottle, showing he had clearly taken more of a liking to it than his temporary companion. “I prefer homemade.” Jervis narrowed his eyes, clearly silently judging the man’s choice of beverage.  

“Twinkle twinkle little bat,” the Hatter hummed to himself, setting his drink down. Jonathan turned to look at him, shaking his head in disapproval. The smaller man pouted slightly, almost like a child, but still stopped anyways, crossing his legs on the seat and leaning back. As much as he had grown used to it, any Wonderland references were also prohibited; yes he had let the “Time” conversation to slip through, but he needed to ease Jervis into the harsh reality. A couple of hours in, he needed to put his foot down on the subject. Jonathan didn’t want to risk Jervis having one of his more worse schizophrenic outbursts while they were on this drive. That was also why he bought (now considered stolen) a little something extra from the store while they were there. Tetch had yet to know about it, seeing as he only thought Jonathan had gone in for the tea. 

“So, if you really wanted to go on this trip, why not take a plane? You have the money,” the curious man asked casually. An easy enough question. “I would, but air security are pretty much trained to recognize us. Wouldn’t want someone hijacking the plane, would they?” the professor explained, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I would fly myself if it weren’t for recognition issues. Are you telling me you’ve never flown back to England?”  

“Of course I have,” Jervis replied, folding his hands in his lap. “Once or twice, though, since I usually have no reason to. I usually take the trip by ship, though, as the costs are undoubtably better and I get recog- wait.” He stopped himself, furrowing his brow as he finally seemed to process something. He looked back up at the driver. “Come again? What do you mean you could ‘fly yourself’?” Jonathan gave the other a shrug as he kept his eyes on the road, only glancing down at him once. “I have a biplane I’ve kept in storage for who knows how long. I haven’t taken it out in almost two years.” He cocked a brow, glancing over at him. “You should know this. Unless you don’t pay attention to the news.” 

“Oh you know I never listen to that poppycock,” Jervis scoffed with a wave of his hand, quickly trying to dismiss the last statement. He took a moment to think about this. “Jonathan, mate, are you saying you know how to fly?” He seemed almost incredulous. Crane felt a smirk appear on his lips at the other’s amusing bewilderment, answering with a nod. “Why yes, I do. I’m surprised you’re so surprised. I learned the ropes from a farmer that lived only a mile or so from my home. He owned a biplane, you see. He gave me a few lessons in exchange for help around the farm. I improved my skills years later so I could make attempt at spreading fear. It was a simple fear gas and crop duster gimmick; something I came up with long before we began to combine our talents.” 

Tetch stayed silent, processing this for a moment. “Does this count for commercial planes, too?” he asked suddenly, as if having a plan. Crane was quick to shake his head. “No no, I can only pilot single-engine planes. Anything major is far too complex for me.” Jervis happened to find this rather amusing, seemingly quick to tease him. Unfortunately, the infamous Master of Fear was also well known for having little to no sense of humor. A laugh at a joke from Jonathan was akin to a unicorn landing in your front lawn. “Oh? Are a few buttons and levers too complicated for the Master of Fear to handle?” he tittered, a hand coming up to slightly cover his overbite as he jested. “Oh please, I’m a doctor, not a master of aeronautical engineering,” the psychiatrist scoffed. “Oh? Au contraire, Crane. I’m a neuroscientist,” the smaller man argued, “and yet I discovered the beauties of controlling the mind through cards that I’ve made myself.” 

“Oh don’t give me that,” Crane huffed. “You actually have a degree in biotechnology, so of course you know how to regulate a few synapses. Hypnosis and the like.” 

Jervis rested a hand on his chin, giving a small nod of concession. “Alright, I see your point. Fine, what else are you well-versed in? And do make it a talent that doesn’t relate to your chosen profession.” 

Jonathan tensed up slightly, his mind racing to find an example of something he was at least proud to say he was able to do. While he could read mind and expressions like a preschooler’s first book, every thug and criminal based in Gotham knew that. Well, he was fairly good at one thing in particular when he was usually alone and at home, relaxed, but he’d first be struck down by the heavens themselves before he would readily admit that as an example. 

“Martial arts,” he finally came up with, but Jervis quickly shook his head. “I said it can’t relate to your profession.” 

“What? What does self-defense have to do with being a psychiatrist and a professor?” Jonathan spat, only to see the opposer giggle with mirth. “Oh? Then what’s your current occupation?” he hummed, causing the doctor to pause. Okay, he had a point there. He grimaced, racking his mind for anything else, before finally throwing his hand up. “Fine… I’m a fairly talented…” he mumbled something under his breath. Jervis cocked a brow, leaning closer. “I beg your pardon?” he grinned, beckoning a louder answer. “Is whispering that special talent of yours? Because frankly, my dear Jonathan, I couldn’t hear a word you said.” Crane was quick to place a hand on the other’s face, shoving him back.  “Oh never you mind!” he scowled, turning his head away from the passenger’s growing laughter. He had half a mind to drop him off here and now, even if it might be his fault that he couldn’t take a joke. “Besides, I already have piloting under my belt, not to mention I am an astounding chemist. I’m sure you have no other talent besides making a semi-decent cup of tea.” 

Jervis didn’t have as much trouble as his friend had in deciding what to say. “Only a few things, really. Two of them I’m rather good at I’d say. I’m fairly experienced in playing piano, a skill I enjoy putting to use with a few songs from my favorite book. I’m also flu- I’m sorry, did you say ‘semi-decent’?” 

Crane gave a small shake of his head, pretending like he’d never uttered the words. “No no, continue,” he urged. “What’s the other thing?” He received an annoyed look, but he still resumed nonetheless. “I’m bilingual,” he finished. “Other than that, I suppose I’ve got a few know-hows in chemistry, but that’s it.” Now Jonathan was the one who was intrigued. “Are you? In what?” he inquired. “French,” he answered. “I thought you knew that already.” 

The doctor shook his head. “The idea never really crossed my mind, to be honest. Sure, you use a few French phrases here and there, but I just thought those were words the English put to use from time to time.” The Englishman nodded in acknowledgement. “C'est vrai, mais non,” he grinned, grabbing his bottle and going to take a sip from it. “True, but not for me. I don’t suppose you know a language, too, do you?” 

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Oh don’t get all haughty with me,” he huffed, his voice quick dripping with a thick sarcasm. “Yes yes, I, the dumb American, have never had the time nor motivation to learn an entire language, as well as an instrument more complicated than a triangle.” This apparently pushed Jervis over the edge, for he burst into a fit of laughter whilst he drank, nearly spilling the beverage over the car’s interior. “Oh don’t be so hard on yourself,” he giggled, closing his bottle. “Though I suppose it’s true that our tastes are more refined than yours.” 

“If you’re going to be so vainglorious about yourself and your country, why not move back to England, then?” Jonathan asked. “I can hardly understand why you even bothered to move to Gotham in the first place.”  

“Work opportunities,” he explained. “And I just needed some time away. Besides, it’s not like I learned all those things just for fun. My- ahem, my mother was rather serious about my education when I was young.” Jonathan noticed the slip and pause when his partner mentioned his mother, but let Jervis continue talking. “And French took a bloody eternity to even begin to master. Had Alice not been there for support and help, I’m sure I would have given up long ago.” 

Crane glanced over, slightly interested in the reveal of an “Alice”. He decided to pursue it, though he knew he had to stop should he see any signs of disgruntlement. Being the curious psychiatrist he was, though, he was more than eager to pry. “Alice?” he questioned. “As in…?” 

“A childhood friend,” Tetch was quick to explain. “Back when I was just a lad.”  

“Were you close?” Jonathan asked, wanting to know more. The response was a simple nod, so he continued. “Do you two still keep in touch?” To this, Jervis responded with a “no”. “She disappeared a while back,” he explained with a sigh. “Back before all… of this.” He looked up at the other, intertwining his fingers. “She was my closest friend. You would have loved her, really. Sweetest girl you would have ever met.”  

“I’m sure I would have,” Jonathan hummed in agreement. “What ever happened to her?”  

“She’s just gone,” he said, not even taking time to consider the question. Curt answers meant he was pulling away. He decided those four questions were enough for now. He would just have to ask during tomorrow’s drive. For now, he had to pull back before the mood staled further. 

Another game of chess would probably pass the time and cheer him up. 

“It’s getting rather late and I’ve been driving for hours,” Jonathan sighed, checking the time. The sun was beginning to set and the now dull songs that played on the radio was starting to grate on his nerves. “We’re getting out at the next motel up ahead.” 

Jervis looked up from his phone in mild interest at the small town they had found themselves in, smiling and giving an understanding nod. He took another look down at his phone, seemingly searching for something. Once he found it, though, he frowned. “Oh, blimey, you were closer. It was two hundred seventy-three.” 

“Thought so!” Jonathan smiled, giving himself a mental pat on the back. “That’s another point for me, Tetch. I’m in the lead, 7-6.” Jervis just gave a small chuckle. “Alright, if you win the next point, this will be the last one,” he sighed. “I will gladly admit defeat to your superior memory. Now, you have the honors of picking the event.” 

“Hmm… Professor Pyg,” the doctor decided on. “During his crime spree after he broke out last month. I’m going to guess… seventeen victims.” Jervis nodded, now thinking of his own number. “If I know Pyg, which I do, he wouldn’t do so many at a time. I’ll say… ten.” And with that, he began typing on his phone to look up some of the latest news articles on Pyg. As he did so, they came across a small motel up ahead. A few cars were parked there, but there was really no worry. Now further away from Gotham, it was less likely the two would be recognized.  

“Oh sod it all,” Jervis grumbled in annoyance, before bringing a hand up to cover his filthy mouth. “Oh, I apologize for my language.” Jonathan merely grimaced, pulling into the parking lot. “How many victims were there?” 

“Fifteen victims,” Tetch sighed, already getting out. “You win 8-6.” The other criminal was soon following, going to the trunk to pull out their bags. “You may trade your secrets with the man, but I’m the one whose studied him,” he grinned to himself. “What a charmed life you must lead to spend your time doing so,” Jervis replied, grabbing his own personal bag and helping his friend take out everything but the large scythe. Bringing that in wouldn’t be a very smart idea.  

“And now, as punishment, you have to be the one to talk to the fool at the front desk,” Crane hummed, giving his comrade a nudge with his elbow. The haberdasher begrudgingly agreed and made his way inside. With a quick look around, he was pleased to see a little station in the lobby for coffee and hot water for tea. The lady at the front counter looked up at him in disinterest, gesturing to a sign in sheet. She didn’t recognize him, that was good. He supposed he was glad for the lack of conversation, although he was more than willing to strike one up with any random person. He was quick to write down a false name. The woman sauntered over to the key board and grabbed a set, handing it over. “Room B6. Second floor,” she told him. He gave a nod and grabbed the keyring from her. “Good day, madam,” he said kindly, immediately cursing himself on the inside for saying it. She cocked an eyebrow, now seemingly more attentive. “Whoa. You British?” she asked, leaning over the counter with her top half propped up on her elbows. Well, he supposed there was no choice in backing out now. He gave a curt nod, tucking the key into his pocket. “Yes, English,” he clarified, before quickly but casually making his way to the door. He gave a quick “thank you” before leaving. Once he was out the door, he immediately smacked himself on the forehead for being so stupid. While sure, being English wasn’t a dead giveaway, he was still fairly identifiable, what with the overbite when he smiled or his short stature. Still, it wasn’t like he could kill her, not that he really wanted to in the first place. He merely sighed and hoped for the best, going over to his companion and leading him to their room. 

Once inside, Jervis dropped his bags near the left bed and flopped directly onto it. 

“Fine, it looks like I’ll take the right one,” Jonathan shrugged, setting his items down onto the other bed and unpacking his phone to take a quick check. “I could really use a bit of water. Do they have any of that in the lobby?” he asked. Jervis checked his phone with an eager nod. “Yes, they do, around the little sitting area. Oh, and they have hot water for tea. Do you want me to get you some?” Jonathan shook his head, already heading to the door. “I’ll do it, don’t worry,” he sighed, pulling his coat from his bag and tugging it on.  

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes yes. Take a shower or something while I’m gone.” And with that, he left, heading down to the lobby. He went about completely ignoring the woman at the front desk as he passed and looking over the refreshments. He grabbed a bottle of water for himself before pouring some hot water quickly making his way back to their room. To his relief, Jervis was following his advice and taking a shower as his friend returned. That would leave him only a few minutes. 

Jonathan acted quickly and pulled out a tea bag from Jervis’ stash, dipping it into the steaming water to steep. He then pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills he had taken from the gas station. He took out two, taking out a small pocket knife and using it to chop up and crush them into a fine powder. He scooped up the medication and poured them into the steeping tea, using the bag itself to stir in the pills until they could no longer be seen. Only a minute later did Jervis step out, fully clothed and drying his wet hair. He was quick to notice the prepared tea, picking it up with a smile.  

“Oh how amiable you are!” he grinned, picking up the cup and, seeing that it was ready, throwing away the bag. He took small sips, sitting down on his bed and looking over at Jonathan, who was calmly working on a crossword booklet whilst he laid in his own bed. “So, what was the name you used for the front desk?” he asked his shorter partner, looking over from his puzzle. Jervis sat cross-legged on the bed, smiling as he sipped his drink. “Oh, a simple one. Nigel Evans.” 

All was silent for a moment, until Jonathan couldn’t help it. He turned around, not showing his face and already getting under the blanket. The other male obviously saw nothing wrong with the name, but his friend seemed disgruntled by it. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“Oh…. It’s nothing.” 

“No, tell me! Did I do something wrong?” 

“It’s just…” Jonathan said slowly, “I never thought you would be able to choose a more British name, but you did, and it astonishes me.” 

“Oh shush your mouth!” Jervis laughed, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at the other occupant, who didn’t find it as humorous. The pillow was easily caught and thrown back. He looked over with a small smile at the window beside him, gazing out at the setting sun. He finished off his tea and grabbed his favorite book. He frowned, however, when Jonathan made the effort to go over and snatch the book up, shaking his head. Jervis looked more than annoyed, but simply realized he had to deal with it. 

“I barely feel tired at all,” he commented, looking over at the time. “I suppose I’ll be up for a good few hours, so don’t lose any winks because of me, alright?” Jonathan just gave a nod, barely listening as he sat back in his own bed. “Sure.” 

Within an hour, Jervis was passed out on the bed, hugging the pillow he had once chucked at his roommate. Jonathan sat up, looking over at the sleeping form with a hint of suspicion. “That should keep you out until the morning,” he sighed, setting down his book and turning off the nightstand lamp. “I refuse to have you ruin anything overnight with your crazed delusions.” He slumped into bed as his muttered out the last words, quickly falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

Chapter Text

We regret to inform you of…  

Jonathan was up and about by six, being the early riser he was. As expected, Jervis was still sleeping like a wet log in his bed, his arms wrapped around a small pillow. He wasted no time in heading down to the lobby and grabbing a cup of coffee, a cardinal sin to the Mad Hatter. He took it without sugar or cream, just needing the bitter to wake himself up from his tired state. He also decided to make some tea for Jervis, just so he wouldn’t complain about anything.  

As his roommate slept, he proceeded to start getting things ready, packing things up and taking them to the car. Jervis mumbled things in his sleep, blissfully unaware whilst under the fading effects of the drug. Jonathan, being the doctor he was, quickly noticed the sleep talking. “Somniloquy?” he muttered to himself, vaguely interested. With the state of Jervis’ mental health, parasomnia was to be expected. He took a quick listen to see what he could pick up. 

“Oh no need to be sad, Mock Turtle,” Jervis unknowingly mumbled in his sleep. “I know the Duchess is horrifically ugly…” Wonderland, of course. He should have guessed. He might as well wake him up now. He gave the sleeping man a good shake, attempting to rouse him from his slumber. “Jervis, wake up,” he said firmly, but the man in question didn’t wake, just curling up more and muttering a few things to himself. “Tetch, get up,” he ordered again, shaking him once more. No results. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. With little regard for his own dignity at this point, he raised his voice to a much higher-pitched, playful tone. “Oh Hatter,” he said softly in a sing-song type fashion. “Get up or you’ll be late for the tea party.” In an instant, Jervis was sat up in his bed, letting out a soft yawn and rubbing the bleary sleep from his eyes. “March Hare?” he murmured softly. “How long was I out? Is Alice here?” 

“You’re not the Hatter, I’m not the March Hare, there is no tea party, and Alice isn’t here,” Jonathan listed off, handing him his tea. “Come on, we have to go.” Jervis gave a quick nod and came to his feet, sipping his tea and grabbing his book. They grabbed their last few things before signing out at the lobby and heading to their car. “I didn’t wake up once during that entire time,” the Englishman noted, getting into the car with him. “My, I even feel like the Dormouse I’m so bleary-eyed.”  

“Well now you’re awake. We should finish this drive by tonight, so I don’t want to make any unnecessary stops, understood?” Crane told him, starting the car. Tetch gave an affirmative nod, sipping his tea. He noticed Jonathan’s coffee in the cupholder, cringing slightly. “I’ll never understand how you stand that drink,” he sighed. “And I see you like it without any sugar or cream.” He took a small sip of his tea, looking forward. “Black, just like your soul.” He received a funny glare. “Oh it was a joke, Jonathan. You would think all those times we’ve spent with the Queen of Hearts that you’d learn to take one.” 

“Okay okay, here’s a good one,” Jervis read off of his phone. “The more of me there is, the less you see. What am I?” 

“Hm… is it fog?” Jonathan guessed, tapping the steering wheel in tune to the song playing softly on the radio. “Oh, quite the good guess, but I’m afraid that’s not it,” Jervis told him. “Though I suppose a fog is applicable. I’ll be sure to leave it as a comment.” 

Brow furrowed, he quickly tapped the steering wheel in momentary concentration. He had to give credit to Batman for being able to solve such puzzles with ease. “So if it’s not a fog, it must be darkness,” the doctor concluded, receiving a confirming nod. “That took little to no effort. It seems that Nygma needs to step up his game if he wants to defeat the Bat.”  

“He tells me this is just for his failed riddles,” the other explained. “The ones the Jaba- ahem, the ones that Batman already solved.” “Is he the only one with a social media presence?” Jonathan asked. 

“No, I know Selina Kyle has one specifically for pictures of her cats, Harley has a few social media pages to flaunt this and that, and Harvey Dent used to own one, but he hasn’t used it since his accident, understandably. I believe it’s become a memorial page.” 

“Do you have one?” 

“Have a what?” 

“A social media page?” 

“We don’t have social media in Wonderland, Jonathan. What are you, mad?” 

“But aren’t we all already mad?” 

“Just because I’m mad doesn’t mean I have to do everything that seems mad. That’s like saying just because a bat can fly that it should start using airplanes.” 

“But… bats can’t fly planes in the first place.” 

“Exactly!” 

Jonathan paused, his brow creased as he tried to make sense of that. 

“How many times have we heard this song?” Jervis grumbled as he switched stations on the radio. “I’d estimate it at about a hundred.” 

“I’d say just three times,” Jonathan replied, driving slowly through the small they were passing through. “No no, it’s at the very least fifty. It must be!” the Hatter argued, unable to find something he liked. It was soon decided the radio was better switched off. “So if you don’t want to listen to the radio, then I suppose we should go about doing something else,” Jonathan reasoned. “We’ve done riddles, chess games, and victim guessing games. What now?” 

When Jervis was unable to think of anything, Jonathan decided to take his chance at getting a few answers. “So if you don’t have anything, may I ask you a few questions?” Jervis immediately slumped in his seat, a grimace on his face. “Oh what? You don’t like my questions?” Crane asked, peering over at him with an innocent gaze. “Do I fancy them? No. But do I hate them? Also a no,” Jervis replied honestly. “You pry quite a bit, you know, even though you’re no longer a psychiatrist. You just love to prod. Almost like my mother.” 

“Oh good, we can start there,” Jonathan offered, watching him sigh dramatically and look up to the ceiling of the car. “Alright alright, caterpillar, I’ll play your games and answer your dire questions. Ask away.” 

“Now, let’s start with your home life. What was it like? Would you say it was pleasant?” the psychiatrist asked, looking over at his patient every so often as he drove down the road. “Fine for what it was,” Jervis shrugged, seemingly disinterested in the question. He had already been asked this so many times he felt just about ready to off himself. “A mother, a father, and a fair sister.” Jonathan gave a slow nod. “Good. Now tell me about them. About England.”  

So, with reluctance, Jervis launched into a brief synopsis of his time in England. From what he claimed, he had a fairly decent education and even finished top of his class. There were no bullies or tragic events or parents who left him; it just seemed like a normal life. He got an occupation in neurotechnology, was offered a job from Wayne Enterprises, and that was how he came to America. The rest was practically history. But there were a few things missing. With Jervis’ obsession with Alice in Wonderland, it made little to no sense for it to just come out of the blue like that. If he had never mentioned it, it was doubtful he would ever bring it up without a bit of prodding. So that lead to the next question. 

“So tell me about Alice. Your friend, to be exact,” he told him, wanting to know more about Jervis’ childhood companion. Tetch frowned slightly, but nodded and complied. “Like I said, she was a friend. My best friend to be exact. She was honest and kind and didn’t mind me, even if she could be a little crude. I’ve known her up until I had grown a decent amount, and then she left. I’ve been trying to find her since.” 

Jonathan felt as though he had a large chunk of the picture that he hadn’t seen before. After that, he only asked a few more simple questions.  

“Do you like what you do?” 

“Why of course I do.” 

“Do you consider yourself to have a high interpersonal IQ?” 

“Why yes, I would say that I do.” 

“Who would you say are your friends?” 

“Oh dear, there’s a long list I have. I’d say everyone I’ve worked with for starters.” 

“That’s good enough, thank you. I suppose this will be the last question for now. Your medication is something you seem to loathe quite harshly, despite the fact that it’s what makes you sensible. Why don’t you take your pills?” 

Jervis frowned at the inquiry, seemingly not understanding. “What pills do you mean?” he asked. “Your antipsychotics you’ve been supplied with,” Jonathan clarified. “Why don’t you take them anymore?” To that, Jervis didn’t even need to hesitate. In fact he almost never hesitated to tell how he felt. “Sensible hardly matters to me, now. Why should I?” he asked. “I’m happy here, aren’t I?” 

“Are you saying you weren’t happy before?” Jonathan asked, nearing a rather large bump in their metaphorical road. 

He stopped for the first time during their session, having been ready to answer but having lost all the words. 

“Is that what happened to your wrists?” 

That was what got him. Tetch was frozen, his mouth agape as he attempted to say something in return. Perfect. Jonathan couldn’t help but smile to himself; it was a perturbing kick he got out of these questionings and finding the weak spots of each individual. Call it the sadist within him, but he quite liked watching other squirm in discomfort. 

“Is that why you decided to tear yourself up? In a hopeless fear that you could never be happy?” 

Jervis’ jaw clenched shut, working it tightly. It was at this point the doctor realized he might’ve actually pushed things a little bit too far. Usually he never thought of such things, but his mind changed when he stole a glance towards his partner in crime. 

Jervis looked angry. Not the kind of frustrated and huffing vexation he had displayed during the “frabjous” disagreement; Jervis looked genuinely angry, an expression he almost rarely saw in the Englishman’s visage. He almost looked seething. 

“Touchy subject?” Jonathan hummed in an attempt to tone the now tense atmosphere of the car. “I’m deeply sorry if I offended you.” 

Tetch simply looked away, glaring out the car window. “No. No you’re not.” He closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down. “We’re done with the interrogations.” Well at least he was right about one thing. Jonathan was not one to feel any type of remorse for his actions, so he wasn’t going to stop prying after this little incident; he wasn’t trying to make the small man angry, it was just how he was. 

“Yes yes, I suppose we’re done for today,” he agreed, but Jervis shook his head in disapproval. “No, we’re done, and that will be that. I take this as far as I want it to, remember?” Jonathan recalled the distant memory, grimacing that Jervis had actually been able to recall his words. He merely nodded his head in agreement, deciding to shut his mouth before he made the situation worse than it already was. He knew his companion would bounce back as always. Attempting to hurt Jervis was like kicking a dog that loved you as hard as you could. Sure, he would be cross with you for a little bit, maybe even avoid you, but forgiveness wouldn’t be too far behind. 

Jervis quietly seethed to himself, upset that he had let Jonathan get the best of him and trick him like that. He knew the bastard was cunning and knew his way around the human mind, but he had hoped he would show at least a little refrain. The subtle voices in his head now showed their sinister intents, Cheshire cats and insane royalty whispering for a swift execution. He groaned softly, rubbing at his temples as he simply tried to ignore their cries of injustice. He closed his eyes to be rid of visions that appeared in the corner of his eye or off the side of the road, demanding his attention as the Mad Hatter. He needed something to calm himself down, he realized, deciding to recite one of the poems from his favorite book that was ingrained into his memory. 

“Speak roughly to your little boy, 

And beat him when he sneezes;  

He only does it to annoy,  

Because he knows it teases.” 

Jonathan frowned to himself. Jervis most definitely was not in a good mood. The poem he recited were always a good way to analyze the feelings he held; darker lyrics were usually reserved for his more perturbed moments, when he felt deeply frustrated or even sadistic. It was so he could calm himself down from particularly bad moments, a method that worked surprisingly well. The doctors at the asylum had no doubt taught it to him, convincing him it was a good way to let out his frustration. He tapped his acquaintance on the shoulder lightly to get him to stop the muttering, but he only had his hand smacked away.  

“I speak severely to my little boy, 

I beat him when he sneezes;  

For he can thoroughly enjoy  

The pepper when he pleases!” 

The car went silent. The two said nothing to each other before Jervis began reciting the same poem once again, evidently not satisfied with his first time. Jonathan said nothing about it, deciding to just keep driving. It wasn’t long until the mutterings stopped. Neither said a word to each other, figuring it would be best. 

So they drove in absolute silence. Jervis let his thoughts dwell, no longer attempting to separate them from fiction, until his gaze rose to something in the distance. 

“Look Jonathan! There’s you!” 

Crane blinked in surprise from the sudden exclamation. He didn’t think Jervis would speak to him for another hour or so, but here it was, not even ten minutes later. He furrowed his brow, looking in the direction the other was pointing out the window.  

In a tall cornfield at the side of the road, towering amongst yellowing stalks of corn was a limp figure, held up by a post with his arms spread out in a crucifix pose. It had a small brim hat on and handfuls of hay could barely be seen sprouting out from its plaid shirt from the far distance. 

“Is that…” 

“It’s a scarecrow!” Jervis chuckled, seemingly having sprung back from his earlier angered state. The poems were a help after all. Jonathan smirked, turning his eyes back to the road. “I’d forgotten that those things actually have a use,” he sighed. “Too bad they’ve become so… nonintimidating. You’d think they’d be scarier out alone in a cornfield than parading around Gotham.” 

“Well, to be fair, Jonathan,” Jervis pointed out, “regular scarecrows don’t go around terrorizing citizens.” Alright, he would give him that one. “True,” Crane admitted, before looking at the time. “It seems that we’re getting there sooner than I’d originally estimated. I assume it’ll only be an hour from now before we get there.” 

“Oh how delightful,” Tetch sighed in relief. His voice was soft, with less of that jovial attitude he had originally flaunted around. “I’ve been waiting all this time to see where the dear Hare- ahem, Dr. Crane, has grown up. And perhaps we can get something to dine on, too? We haven’t eaten since the morning of your last unbirthday.” 

Jonathan thought it over for a moment. He was rather famished as well, and it would only be several hours until night fell. “Sure,” he agreed. “I think I can find a nice diner around. Though, don’t expect anything fancy. My home town isn’t exactly up to Gotham standards.” 

“Gotham has standards?” Jervis asked. Okay, Jonathan had to admit, he was almost had there. “You know what I meant,” he replied, slumping back in his seat. “So, we have an hour to spare. What do you want to do until then?” He received a suspicious look, but still Tetch smiled slightly as he also laid back, looking around the car as if for some sort of inspiration. However, he seemed to give up halfway through. 

“White pawn E4.” 

Jonathan thought for a moment, silent for a few seconds. 

“Black knight F6.” 

“Bishop C6.” 

“Pawn G5.” 

Chapter Text

We  feel for you on this tragedy, and we pray for your speedy recovery  at Arkham and your good health.  

“This is your home?” Jervis asked softly, gazing around the unfamiliar rural landscape. 

“Correct… this was my home,” Jonathan confirmed, vague memories of people and places slowly returning to him. It had been years, and yet he knew how to navigate the streets with ease. The pair drove though the streets of the town, passing by various stores and small shops. Jervis looked around curiously, noticing the small and large differences between Gotham and the area they found themselves in. “This is…”  

“As I previously mentioned, this isn’t exactly an upperclass community. Last I checked, the population was under a good fourteen thousand,” Jonathan explained, “such a minute community in comparison to Gotham’s bulging numbers.” He pulled up to a small diner off the side of the road, getting out with his companion. “Now, I’d prefer if you do most of the talking,” he told him. Jervis looked up at him in slight confusion, beckoning an explanation. “Well, seeing as I’m from here, I’d prefer that I do as little as possible to be recognized. I’m sure every person here has familiarized themselves with me, seeing as the only reason they’re even remotely significant is for my deeds. I know we’re trying to keep a low profile, but I doubt anyone will be able to point a finger just because you’re English.” Jervis seemed to make sense of his words and nodded in understanding, following the other into the small diner. 

It wasn’t long before the two were seated at a small booth, looking over a menu. “Pity, they have no tea here,” Jervis sighed, disappointed. “No, but they have sweet tea,” Jonathan replied, glancing at him from over the menu. “Oh you know very well they’re not the same thing!” the Englishman huffed, his gaze flitting from the menu for a moment. “I haven’t even finished that bottle of sweet tea you got my yesterday. It’s just… such a peculiar taste.” 

“They don’t have sweet tea in England?” Jonathan inquired. “Hardly,” the other replied. “It’s an American drink. I rarely saw anyone drink it, save for sugar buffs, and even then it was only during the summer times. I’ve tried it… perhaps once before, and I could hardly stomach the drink.” The doctor smirked, setting down his menu. “In that case, I’ll have a glass. It’s been a while since I’ve had any.” Jervis grimaced, opening to remind him that he’d only had some the say before. “Any good sweet tea,” the doctor corrected himself. The other looked turned off of the conversation, but nodded. “Besides, practically everyone down here is addicted to it, so you might as well try to get used to it while you’re down here.” He looked down at the menu one more time, before showing Jervis what he wanted to order. 

The waitress was quick to come over, pencil and notebook in hand. “Hey there, my name’s Shirley. What can I get for you two today?” Jervis nodded politely, setting down his own menu and rattling off the order. “My, are you British?” the waitress asked, her hands on her hips after quickly writing down the order. “Why yes. English, madam,” Jervis replied. “Oooh, I heard that was such a nice place. My husband and I have been wanting to go there since we’d been hitched.” She smiled with a bubbly chuckle on her lips. “Just you wait one moment and I’ll be out with your drinks, kay?”  

Jervis watched her leave, giving Jonathan a funny look. “Awfully nice, these locals,” he noted. “That’s southern hospitality for you,” Jonathan shrugged, looking down inconspicuously. “They also don’t get very many foreigners. Hell, I’d never met a British person in my life until my first year at Gotham University. It’s not exactly diverse here.” 

Shirley soon came by with their drinks, setting a glass of sweet tea for the good doctor and a glass of orange juice for the haberdasher. “Now I’ll have your food fixed up in a jiffy, don’t you worry,” she hummed. “Just holler is you need anything, kay hun?” And with that, she strolled off to attend to another booth. “I may not get used to the sweet tea, but I can definitely settle into the geniality,” Jervis smiled, sipping his glass. “Did you expect everyone to be as cold and analyzing and me?” Jonathan asked, his brow quirked as he sipped his own drink. “Well… yes,” the other admitted, having known the other for so long. “Well, sorry to disappoint you,” Crane said with a forced smiled, checking the time on his phone. “It will be late soon enough. Once we’re out, I’ll find a motel for the two of us. It’s been a rather long day.” 

“Long indeed,” Jervis sighed. “I swear, another minute in the car and I might’ve offed myself. After the chess game earlier, I was sure you were going to fit in another questioning. Not that I would have allowed it, mind you.” 

Jonathan fell silent, a frown resting over his visage as he looked down. 

Their food came soon enough and was quickly cleaned off. The two didn’t talk, merely eating until they were finished, where upon they waited for the bill. In that time, another glass of orange juice had been set down, but barely touched. It was quiet, but Jervis spent the time checking his phone and messages. 

“Jervis,” Jonathan said suddenly, his voice low for only him to hear. This caught the Englishman’s attention, who put his phone away so he could focus on his friend. Crane’s fingers idly traced the rim of his now empty glass. “I… I know I’m not a very emotive in nature, and I have difficulties with that, but if we’re working together, I suppose I should do it now.” Tetch stayed silent, listening attentively. “I’m… I’m sorry, about pushing you earlier,” he confessed. “Making you angry like that. I know it was a touchy subject, and yet I still tried to pry into your life. I don’t want there to be anything bad between us, so I apologize for anything that I’ve said in the car ride here that irked you.” 

Jervis was silent, seemingly waiting to see if he was done, before giving a small nod. He then let out a soft chuckle. “No you’re not,” he said, catching Jonathan by slight surprise. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh nonsense. I know you, Jonathan,” he replied casually. “You’re never sorry for anything, especially never for one of your interviews. You were never sorry before all of this and I doubt I’ll ever see remorse from you further on. I mean, you had me fooled for a very long time, but I suppose that’s what psychiatrists must do for their patients.” He took a sip of his juice. “I’ve caught onto your tactics. Though, you don’t need to fake apologies. As much as I hated it, I’d say I deserved it, especially after the time I slipped a card under your hat.” He got up, pushing a lock of hair from his eyes neatly into place. “It was a decent attempt, though. Had it been anyone else, I would have believed you. You don’t have to fake anything with me. We have a partnership, and I’m sure by now we can trust each other after our time working together. We’re past that. We have a trust in each other, wouldn’t you agree?” Jonathan merely nodded, letting out a soft sound of agreement. “Grand to hear. Now, I have to get cleaned up. If Shirley comes around, leave the nice lady a tip, yes?” And with that, he gave Jonathan a small pat on the shoulder and walked past him.  

Well then. 

Jonathan watched him leave, waiting for the door to close fully.  

Trust. Yeah. 

Crane quickly retrieved his pill bottle from his pocket, popping out two more pills and crushing them. Once they were ground up enough, he poured the powder into the other’s drink as he had done the night before, stirring it quickly and sitting back.  

Jervis returned soon enough, sitting down with a sigh and taking a quick drink of the spiked juice. Both men started up a more friendly chat about any plans for the next day. As soon as he saw the kind waitress coming along, he downed a good half of it in an effort not to waste. 

The tab was soon paid and the two got ready to leave their booth. “Not going to finish your beverage?” Jonathan asked, noticing only a portion of it had been finished. Jervis merely took another sip before setting it down and getting up. “I’ve had enough. I’d rather get to a motel for some tea. I could very well use a cup.” Jonathan saw nothing wrong with it and nodded as they began to head out, knowing the portion he drank would still keep him down. 

The sun was only just beginning to set over the horizon. Once back in the car, Jonathan set out on finding a motel. Admittedly, he took his sweet time in doing so, knowing a slow and silent car ride would be sure to make Jervis tired, especially with the sun disappearing from view and enveloping the car in darkness. Sure enough, once they found a decent place to sleep, the smaller man was already beginning to yawn softly. He should count himself lucky those pills acted so quickly. Jonathan was the one to get the room this time, making the exchange short and with little room to chat. They brought their thing upstairs, talking with each other as they unpacked a few things and got ready for a nice sleep. 

“I’m not sure why, but I’ve become rather slothful recently,” Jervis murmured, lying on his bed, his hat in his hands as he inspected it for any flaws. “It’s the time zone change,” Jonathan explained as he slipped on a more comfortable shirt. “It’s messing with your mind. Get some sleep. I don’t expect us to dally tomorrow. We have a few important things to get through before we can leave.” Jervis gave a slow nod and yawned, rolling over. “I suppose you’re right. You are the doctor after all.” A doctor with a bottle of sleeping pills, yes. Jonathan said nothing as he slipped into his own bed, quickly turning off the bedside lamp and lying down. Within minutes, both were asleep. 

In the late hours of the night, it was the obnoxiously loud running of the AC unit that woke Jervis up. Whilst in a dream of tea parties and Alice, he thought it odd at the table, nestled in his armchair, that there was a loud whirring constantly in the air as they sipped their tea. Of course, his slow awakening made him none too happy. He sat up with a soft yawn, looking around slowly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He took his moment to regain clarity, attempting to make sense of just where he was. He wasn’t in Wonderland, that much was for sure. Even the Cheshire cat couldn’t convince him of that, even though she was curled up at the foot of his bed as he considered it. “Oh quiet you all, let me think,” he murmured, rubbing at his temples as he tried to shake the voices and their nonsense. Jervis rubbed the bleariness from his eyes, his thoughts filling with mentions of Wonderland. However, any immersion was broken when he looked to the bed beside his. Jonathan could be seen slumped in bed, a light snore coming from his body. He didn’t think the taller man snored at all, but then again, it wasn’t exactly a topic he had ever thought about. “Does the March Hare snore?” What a curious thought indeed, he quietly mused in amusement. 

Now nearly fully awake, he got out of bed to retrieve a cup of water, his throat dry from the deep sleep. He was careful not to wake his sleeping partner as he did so, and his success was rewarded with the satisfaction in knowing he wasn’t as noisy as everyone so claimed. Once his thirst had been quenched, he checked the time. It was getting close to four in the morning. He assumed it would be a good two hours before Jonathan would be up and about. Until then, he would need something to do, as he was no longer tired enough to head back to bed. 

The first dozen or so minutes were spent checking his phone for the latest news stories, wanting to be up to date on the state of Gotham and its plethora of opportunities. Once that was done, he went over to retrieve his book from the table in the front of the room, interested in reading a few chapters to pass the time. Jonathan didn’t have to know, and he really wanted to read the bit about the Tweedle twins again. As he did so, he noticed another book a few feet away from it, lying face down. His eyes adapting to the darkness, he grabbed it with curious intent and flipped it over. It was Jonathan’s notebook, he realized. It was thick with pages and leather-bound in its exterior. He’d seen Crane write in it several times as they’d worked together; besides his costume and possibly that giant scythe he somehow lugged around, it was practically his most guarded possession.  

Forgetting his own book, he thumbed through a few of its pages. Sure enough, each page was filled to the brim with handwritten notes. He was sure Jonathan wouldn’t mind him taking a small look; okay, Jonathan would certainly mind and possibly have a fit, but he would get over, hopefully. After all, they were both talented scientists in their field and could work around chemistry and the human mind fairly well. Besides, they were working together. It wasn’t like Jervis would somehow find a way to use these notes against the Scarecrow. After taking a quick glance back at the snoring Jonathan, he went about looking through the book. There were formulas and their reactions, as well as an entire section dedicated to listing the different types of fears. Boy, there were a lot of them. What he was most interested in, however, was the seemingly large portion of the notebook that was repurposed specifically to make notes about different criminals they had known over the years. Everyone was in there, including the likes of Killer Croc or Mr. Freeze. The notes went in depth, too, an entire page or two having space for each person and partially filled with his psychoanalysis. Of course, Jervis couldn’t help but feel curious about his own pages, but just as he starting to find the page, he was surprised when a slip of paper fell from the confines of the book and dropped to the floor. Confused, he set the book down to retrieve it, assuming it was a loose sheet of paper that had been torn out a while back. However, once he examined it, he noticed it was folded up and a pristine white, unlike the lined pages of the book. Without hesitation, he opened up the slip of paper, noticing the official-looking stamp up on the top of the paper. It was a letter, he realized, and quickly checked to see who it was sent by, looking down at the signature. It was from an official, he noticed, but none he recognized nor cared to think about other than he recognized where the letter was sent from. More specifically, the letter was sent from the same town they were currently resided in, dating back a month ago. 

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he murmured to himself, making out the rest of the letter with a bit of effort. “Dear Jonathan Crane,” he read in a hushed voice, “we hope this letter finds you well.” He began to read the letter in its entirety. It was short, though its message was clear. Upon finishing his letter, Jervis found himself shrouded in confusion, beginning to rethink their entire journey to the town to begin with. How long did Jonathan plan to hide this? Would he have ever really revealed it without prompt? Questions like these plagued his mind as he began to read it once again, attempting to get a better grasp on the purpose of the letter. 

“What are you doing?” 

Jervis nearly dropped the letter in surprise, his eyes widening. He hadn’t even noticed the sudden lack of noise up until now. He turned around steadily turned to face the other bed. Sure enough, Jonathan was sat up, his legs swung over the side as the man stared blankly at him.  

“I said, what are you doing?” 

The voice was dead and taut, drawn into the low, gravely hiss usually reserved for the Scarecrow.  

“You left your notebook out,” Jervis whispered, his hands falling to his sides with the letter still in his hand. “The letter slipped out, I’m afraid.” His foot motioned backwards when he saw Jonathan come to a stand and approach, ready to step back if needed. 

“And you thought that made it right for you to just snoop through my things?” he demanded. “Give it here. Now.” 

Jervis lifted the letter to him, watching as it was snatched away and stuffed between the pages of his notebook. “Trust,” Jonathan grumbled. “Pah! You speak of it one moment and violate it the next. You always were contradi-“ 

“Why are we here?” Jervis asked, interrupting the other. Jonathan stopped in haste, turning a cold glare towards Jervis. The Englishman, however, remained unafraid. “Why are we here?” he repeated. 

“As I told you, it’s for the notes for my fear toxin,” Jonathan explained, putting the journal into his bag. “That was what it was from the start, remember?” 

“Nothing to do with the letter?” 

“Nothing. It’s unimportant.” 

“Are you lying to me?”  

This caught Jonathan off guard. “Excuse me?” he growled, now turning to tower of the smaller man. “If it was so unimportant, then why are you making such a big deal about it?” Jonathan attempted to respond, but was quickly cut off. “Of course, unless it’s because that flimsy letter is the entire reason we’re here. I always thought that traveling a hundred miles for some blasted notes was always a bit ridiculous on your part. It makes me wonder why you even brought me here on the first place, unless you wanted-“ 

“Don’t you dare try to analyze me!” Jonathan snapped, grabbing Jervis by the scruff of his shirt. “I am the doctor here, not you!” The smaller man was quick to try and pull away, but to no avail. “If I wanted to, I could kill you right here. No one would even bother to remember your pitiful existence,” Jonathan threatened, his voice low once again as he hissed out his threat. “I will not hesitate if you force me, Jervis. I highly suggest you back off and stay out of my things, or I will make you regret ever waking up in the first place.” And with that, he pushed him away. Jervis stumbled back and crashed into the door with a pained grunt, working his jaw. He heard them start up again, the voices; to be fair, they never left, but their constant urges seemed to only be considered now. He slowly glared up at Jonathan, who went back to organizing his items without another word. 

Jervis seethed quietly, coming to a full stand. He slowly turned and left the room, slamming the door as he stepped into the cold night air. The moonlight illuminated the railing of the motel, where he could properly grab something just for the sake of gripping it with every intent to crush it. “I speak roughly to my little boy,” he murmured to himself, attempting to grip the reigns of his emotions once again, though with much difficulty. The March Hare never lied to him; that just wasn’t his place. He couldn’t understand it. For the first time in a long while, he experienced an anger he couldn’t control. His hands gripped the rails of the second floor tightly until his knuckles turned white. The voices irritated his senses, just wanting complete silence so he could properly think for once in his life. He needed to take his mind off of these matters. Perhaps he could pay a visit to a young Alice. Anything was better than this. He just needed to get away from… 

He snapped his fingers, anger flaring as he failed to properly remember the man’s name. He bit his thumb, listening to every dark suggestion that the pawns and animals offered him. Scissors. He felt the intense, uncontrollable urge to grab a pair of scissors and clip something that needed cutting; something solid. 

 “And I beat him when he sneezes.”  

Chapter Text

We wish you well and hope you’re able to visit some day when you’re released. Stay strong and remember the good memories.  

“I just don’t understand it,” Mad Hatter whined, slumping on the couch with a soft sigh. “I mean, why would he hide this from me? For pride? For some selfish fear he has kept hidden inside him?” The woman serving him tea only gave a blank response, something he wasn’t exactly paying attention to at the moment. Though, he supposed he didn’t really need her opinion, for the voices of Wonderland told him themselves. He listened silently, taking their suggestions attentively. “I suppose that’s true,” he muttered to them, folding his hands in his lap. “The rabbit doesn’t fear anything. Even that frightful hookah smoke has stopped working on him.” He pointed to his tea cup, silently ordering the woman to refill it with more tea. The raven-haired woman stared blankly as she slowly poured him another cup of the hot drink, a small hat nestled neatly on her head with a card slipped under it. She seemed to have no awareness of her surroundings, not even of the pained pleas that came from the younger girl tied up in the middle of the room. The girl herself was about eighteen or so, strapped to a chair and struggling to break herself free, her wrists red and becoming torn from rope burn. “That’s enough,” he sighed, taking his cup away and having another sip. “The Hare won’t tell me himself; oh no, he’s much too stubborn, as rabbits are. I won’t be able to draw it out of him without a card, and we both know how that went last time. The Hare nearly strangled me to death, I swear.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose when he heard the girl’s whines grow louder through the cloth gag. He didn’t quite like that rising tightness in his chest. “I just… well, I thought I could trust him. He is the Hare, after all. We’ve been having our tea party since we’ve first met. He’s always been the Hare, and no one else.” He looked out the window in mild annoyance, before a faint realization came to him. “You’re right,” he murmured, clenching his tea cup harder. “What if… what if he isn’t the March Hare at all? I mean, it sounds preposterous at best, but… I wonder if he’s lied to me about that as well. Could we have an unwelcome guest to our tea party?” He clenched his teeth, his anger bubbling within him. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I should…. I should force him to find out. Hurt him if I must. Take a card and sneak it under that flimsy hat of his.” He stared at the ground, considering the possibilities. “Oh, my dear Hare, I wouldn’t want to have to kill you, but I frankly don’t favor uninvited guests to my tea party.”  

When he heard the girl in the corner shriek through her gag, he damn near lost it, the tea cup cracking in his grip. “Shut that stupid girl up!” he snapped, watching the controlled woman march over and promptly smack the blonde across the face, forcing her back into pathetic whimpers and whines. Hatter’s frown twitched as he was suddenly filled with a wave of remorse. “Oh no no no no,” he tittered frantically, strolling over to the girl swiftly and quickly clutching her face with a tight grip. “Oh dear oh dear, please forgive me dear sweet Alice, I never meant any harm.” He laughed, only terrifying the girl more. “But my dear, you’re being a little much at the moment, understand?” Without waiting for a response, she suddenly felt the edge of a pair of scissors begin to trace the curves of her face, not breaking through the skin but definitely making it crawl as a blade came up to delicately swipe away the tears. “After all, you have such such pretty hair,” he commented, running a gloved hand through tangled brown locks, “but I’m afraid it isn’t perfect; it needs just a tad bit of cutting.” The girl closed her eyes, silently praying as she realized she was nearing the end of her own life. She was surprised, however, when the blade was removed. The Mad Hatter sighed, setting the scissors down beside his tea. His mind wandered back to the main topic of that night.  “The bloke’s probably waiting for me as I speak.” He covered his mouth. “Oh, I really should learn to control my language. But, I’ve done a bit of research on the woman, but nothing extensive.”  

Hatter took a quick glance at his phone upon noticing it vibrate. A text appeared from the dear Hare (if that’s who he really was), telling him to get back to the hotel room and to try not to be seen. Apparently it was urgent. Hopefully it wasn’t some attempt to lead him into a trap. “Oh dear,” he mumbled, getting up. “Well, thanks for the tea, love, but I’m afraid I have to go.” He looked over at the blank woman with a frown. “But before I do go off, would you happen to own a sort of weapon?” The woman passively told him about the axe out back used for chopping up wood. No emotion passed over her face. She was a blank slate. 

“Lovely, dear. Thank you,” he hummed. “That is all. Go to sleep.” Within an instant, the woman went limp and fell to the floor. Hatter went over and took the card from her hat, giving her a quick smile before looking at the woman tied to the chair in the corner. “Oh Alice, you’re still here. My my, I should bring myself to let you go, shouldn’t I?” he sighed to her, his own voice nearly drowned out by the ones his his head. “I brought you here for a bit of cutting, but it seems like I need to rejoin the tea party.” The girl had tears running down her face, her fear at a high. Scarecrow would probably love to be here. Hatter looked over her appearance, pouting some. “Oh, but you have such nice hair, just like Alice, but you’re not quite Alice? No no no, you’re not. Just as the Hare isn’t the Hare, I’n afraid Alice just isn’t here. A shame, too. What a lovely bundle of hair. It wants cutting. And I wouldn’t want the your pretty face to be damaged while I’m in rush. I suppose I’ll come back for you later. Hold tight, dear. It’ll only be a few hours.” He walked towards the door. 

He paused just before exiting. He gave a faint titter, which slowly grow into a mad giggle, and soon a jovial laugh. The unknown woman cowered in her chair, tears beginning to stream anew as the madman howled in laughter. 

 “Oh, why not,” he grinned as he came down from his laughing high, turning around and snatching a pair of scissors from the desk beside him. “It’s not like Time moves for me anymore, isn’t that right? I have a few minutes to spare. It’s not like I really care about Hare’s urgent messages at this point, do I?” He went over to the scared young girl, snipping his scissors in the air. “I’ve been practicing, did you know? Hopefully I won’t sever an ear this time. Oh, that would be just dreadful. Luckily our lovely hostess over there will take the blame should any mishaps happen, my dear.” 

He gingerly grabbed a lock of the girl’s hair, bringing the scissors dangerously close to her face. “Now... hold. Still.” 

Jonathan was sitting on his bed, legs crossed on the bed as he stared intently at the TV. He was lost in thought, no longer focused on his spat with the mad Englishman. He was still furious, mind you, but the television was what required his attention at the most at the moment. 

Jervis soon came in, wiping his hands. “You’re here,” Jonathan sighed, only giving a small glance at him as he mainly paid attention to the events on screen. He didn’t even notice Jervis discreetly wiping his hands on a small cloth to be rid of the last of the blood. “Yes yes, Hare, I’m here,” Tetch sighed, walking over. “Now, what is it that’s so desperate that you traverse Wonderland through phone to contact me?” Jonathan merely grabbed the remote, rewinding the television to the first few important moments of the news story. 

“That’s right, James, it appears we have a double murder,” the newswoman reported, tuning in from the site of a very recognizable gas station. “Oh… so that’s the jam,” Jervis mumbled to himself, not believing it. That explains why Hare called for him to urgently. 

“We got the call from a young man, the boyfriend of one of the two victims, who had been waiting in the car whilst the ordeal happened. According to interviews with the boyfriend, the suspect walked out and just shot the girl for no discernible reason. As it turns out, it seems that it was an attempt to cover the tracks of a murder mere seconds before. After that, he moved to get into presumably his car with another man and driving off.” 

“I didn’t check the car,” Jonathan sighed, lowering his head and cursing himself. “Why didn’t I check the god forsaken car?” Jervis frowned, going over and sitting on his own bed to watch with him. “They found the murder, but at least they won’t be able to trace it to us,” he reasoned. 

“Oho, keep watching,” Jonathan chuckled, despite clearly finding no humor in their dire situation. “It gets even better.” 

“After a quick interview with a sketch artist, it’s been theorized that the two men might actually be Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch, also known as the Scarecrow and Mad Hatter who terrorize Gotham city. If these claims are correct, investigators are wondering just why these two masked men have decided to travel out of the state. Could this be a case for the Batman? Or will the Bat keep to Gotham, fighting the super criminals that already fill his plate?” 

The TV was switched off. “They’ve identified us,” Jonathan growled, his anger showing once again. “This cannot happen. We’ve already gotten this far. We need to move to another location!” 

Jervis didn’t reply, only humming as he went over to his bag. He didn’t seem worried or frightened at all, instead smiling softly as he looked over his things. “Tetch! Are you even listening to me?” the doctor scolded, his impatience growing. Still, Jervis paid no mind. “Jervis!” 

“Have some wine, hare?” Tetch replied, looking over at him. It certainly caught the trained psychiatrist off guard. “Excuse me?” he retorted, his brow creased in initial confusion. 

“I asked if you would have some wine,” Jervis repeated, his expression still calm and jovial as usual. Jonathan knew this line. It was directly from the book, chapter seven to be exact. A decent knowledge of the book was essential to working with the Mad Hatter, especially when it came to the character in question. He knew what the Hatter’s response would be, but he still responded anyways. “Yes… I would,” he said slowly. Jervis looked into his bag and shrugged. “Oh, it seems I don’t have any.” 

“It wasn’t very civil if you to offer it,” Jonathan recited, sitting down. 

“It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,” the other replied sharply. Jervis wasn’t happy, that much was clear to him. He also wasn’t in the clearest state of mind, as he wouldn’t be reciting these lines if he truly was. He had to tread lightly if the Hatter was already questioning his stay at the imaginary tea party. 

“What are you on about?” Jonathan played along, intertwining his fingers as he kept his voice calm and unwavering. “I’ve always been a part of your tea party.”  

“Yes yes, but were you invited?” Jervis questioned, hissing out the last word with clear disdain, but it held an unsure tone 

“Yes, you invited me,” the Hare replied, attempting to keep the conversation calm while he could. He kept his voice slow and soft, putting on an empathetic and understanding tone as he would many times before. “And I assure you I would never leave whilst it’s still tea time.” Jervis gave him a skeptical, almost empty look towards him, before giving a nod and going through his bag once more. “Good. I’m not too sure what I would have to do should you not be the Hare.” 

“I am,” he reaffirmed hastily, but Tetch saw no problem with it. “Delightful,” he replied with a small titter. “Now, shall we move this tea party elsewhere?” 

“We shall,” Jonathan sighed, already going to pack up his things. “I know an old warehouse down south a bit. I’m fairly sure the fools never demolished it. We can hide out in there for the time being.” Once everything was zipped up in his bag, he slug it over his shoulder. 

“As long as it’s safe, I don’t mind,” Jervis sighed, now seeming to stray from his more delusional state. “My my, could you imagine how hectic our situation would be if…” he paused, face twisted in concentration. “If… if we brought… oh my, what was his name again?” Jonathan looked over at him, brow raised. “The Dormouse,” Hatter elaborated. “Oh… it’s on the tip of my tongue.” “Nygma?” Crane replied, to which Jervis quickly snapped his fingers. “Callooh! There we are!” he grinned, finishing packing his things with a grin. “Oh my what a venture it would be if he came along.” Crane just silently agreed, deciding saying nothing was the best option. He finished up packing as well and the two hastily left the motel and to their car. The Englishman was the one insisting to put their things away, heaving both bags to the trunk of the car whilst the other started the car. Just as the two were buckled in, Jonathan stopped to take a moment to breathe. Now Jonathan had three things to worry about: the police, Batman, and a Jervis that was slowly falling down the rabbit hole.  

“What a day,” he grumbled to himself, already pulling out of the lot. Jervis merely nodded along with him. “I agree. So many mishaps and it’s still only six o’ clock!” 

It was noon, but who’s keeping track? 

Chapter Text

With our condolences,   

The Georgia State Funeral Home  

“This is the rabbit hole you were speaking of?” Jervis inquired, looking up at the large building in front of them. He grabbed his things from the back, humming softly. “It takes up a bit of space, don’t you think? I’m surprised it hasn’t been taken down if it’s been so long since you’ve seen it.” 

“It’s sort of an attraction now,” Jonathan sighed, going to the trunk to grab his own things. Jervis handed his things to him instead, closing the trunk quickly once most of it was out. The good doctor looked up at the vandalized exterior of the building, going over to head inside. “Everyone here thinks it to be haunted. Kids used to dare each other to go inside.” He could recall a particularly unpleasant memory of being forced into the building by older kids for laughs and locked inside for the night. 

The front doors were locked shut with chains. He cursed and fished in his pockets, pulling out a lock pick and fiddling with the lock holding the chains. “Lock picking? Wherever did you learn that, Hare?” Jervis hummed, watching him open up the lock and undo the chains. “Catwoman,” he said simply. “I helped her in a small robbery in exchange for a small lesson. Only cost me a minute bit of gas. And stop calling me that.” That last part was ignored. He wrenched open the doors with an ear-grating creak.  

The warehouse was a fairly small one, not exactly made for a big company, but it was still roomy. The giant shelves were still in place, all lined up in a neat array. There were rooms off to the side, mostly for other storage or tasks and whatnot. 

“Let’s check the building out,” Jonathan said firmly. “We want to make sure this place is secure. I’ll take the east rooms while you take the west. Get set up wherever you like. We have all the room to do so.” 

With that, they split up, searching for anything of use and making sure the building had its windows closed, boarded, or blocked. It was dark, that was sure enough, but with a bit of messing with the power box from Jervis, the lights were back on. It being a bit of an attraction, the town supposedly found it alright to keep that specific utility functioning. This allowed for a more thorough inspection. They didn’t want any rude entrances, so they tried their best to be sure the place was fit for them to stay a few nights. While all the important things the warehouse had been built to keep was gone, many of the smaller, luxury items like chairs or break room furnishings were still there. It was good they could find a few supplies here and there. Well, at least that’s what Jonathan did.  

When Crane was finished, he returned to the main storage room to find Jervis, but he was nowhere to be seen. He might as well take this time to do a bit of setting up of his own. 

He sat down at a table in what used to be a break room, taking out his bottle of sleeping pills and taking out three this time, just for good measure. He quickly crushed them into a fine powder and scooped it all into a small plastic bag he’d found in one of the drawers in the room. He was sure Jervis would get his usual craving for tea sooner or later. He knew it was a bit early to be drugging his partner in crime, but with how Jervis was beginning to go off the deep end, he knew a good sleep would help get it out of his system for the time being. As of now, he was becoming real sick and tired of the Englishman’s delusions. Wonderland this and Hare that. Whereas before he could tolerate a few ramblings, he now believed the smaller man would attempt to hurt him if given another little shove. Though Jervis was rarely the extremely violent type (his drones did that for him), he was certainly capable of it. He just didn’t want to take any chances anymore. Hell, he’d even thought about ditching him altogether, but that idea was pushed away after a while. 

Jonathan did eventually find Jervis in a small room off to the side, though the purpose was unknown to him. To his surprise, the Hatter was waiting for him at a table. He was laid back in a chair at a wooden table for four, his bags tossed to one side and two of the chairs were pushed into the corner where they remained useless. Jonathan could see a few thing spilling from the bag: several cards, his beloved book, a small chess set for the two of them, and his usual Hatter attire. However, the one thing missing from the jumble of miscellaneous things was his hat. That particular article of clothing was set securely on Jervis’ head, his hand fiddling with the rim and the card sticking out from the ribbon keeping it in place. 

“Ah, Hare, sit down,” he greeted. “There’s plenty of room.” Ironic, seeing as how there was almost no room the more chairs there were. “Stop calling me that,” Jonathan murmured, not yet taking a seat. The look he received made it clear the offer was not a request, but a demand. He kept his expression stoic, deciding to seat himself at the table after all. He watched with caution, making his suspicion clear to the other man. Jervis didn’t comment on it. “We have much to discuss, you know. Now, if Time won’t move for me, I very much doubt he’ll move a second for you with how much you’ve murdered him whilst he was with me. You shouldn’t have any trouble staying here for a good chat.” Jonathan already knew where this was going and didn’t like it one bit, but he didn’t object. If Jervis was already questioning whether or not he was a part of his “tea party”, he had to tread lightly and not upset him. 

Jervis stood up and walked over to his bag, pulling out two pristine tea cups. “Have some tea, Hare?” he offered. Jonathan really did not like regular tea, but he knew how to force it down. “Yes please, and if I may remind you, my name is Jonathan, Jervis.” This received no reaction. The other nodded, taking out some water and immediately going to the other room, but Jonathan stopped him. “Make it in here.” 

Despite the firmness and suspicion in the request, he still agreed, making the tea in front of Jonathan. He grabbed two tea bags from the same box and placed one in each cup, mindlessly muttering “You Are Old, Father William” under his breath. Though that particular poem was enough to get his teeth to grind, Jonathan listened closely. He needed to if he was to get a proper analysis. It went as normal as it could go, until the very last two verses. 

“‘You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose

 
That your eye was as steady as ever; 

Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose— 

What made you so awfully clever?’” 

Jervis giggled to himself, a sound almost like nails in the other’s ears, sitting down and watching the warm tea steep as he intertwined his fingers. Jonathan remained passive despite his thinning patience, only watching him to see what he would try next. Jervis just watched and waited though, finishing his poem.  

“‘I have answered three questions, and that is enough," 

Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!  

Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?  

I’ll gut you like a fish, you’ll be beyond repairs!’” 

Jervis’ hands tightened at the last verse, his voice taking a sharper tone as his knuckles turning white for a brief moment. So he was still angry, Jonathan concluded. That was rather understandable, though. He did lie to the Hatter, but he didn’t regret it. He would kick Jervis down the stairs himself is he could, which was the original ending to the poem, he noted. He did what he needed to, and that was all there was to it. 

The tea was soon ready. “It seems that I’ve forgotten the sugar,” Jervis sighed, referring to a small packet of sugar cubes he kept around for tea and secretly snacked on when he thought no one was looking. He promptly stood up, now no longer in his angered state, and moved over to search through his bag. Quickly taking the opportunity he was surprised he didn’t need to create himself, Jonathan poured the small bag of powdered sleeping pills directly into Jervis’s tea, shaking it a bit to stir it around before slumping back into his chair, folding his hands just as the other turned around with the sugar packet. “Would you have one?” he asked politely, sitting down in his own chair and idly moving his cup around on the table. “No thank you,” he replied firmly, and to his light suspicion, Jervis just nodded and pushed the bag away. He hadn’t taken a sip yet. 

“Now, let’s talk about the letter,” the Englishman started, taking the cup into his hands to allow the warmth to seep through his skin. “No,” was Jonathan’s reply, shutting him down quickly. Jervis’ light smile instantly turned into a frown. “Oh? And why not?” he replied gently, a flash of annoyance subtle on his face, soon settling to become his resting expression as he once again brought about a small smile. Unlike Jonathan, he wasn’t able to hold such stoicism. “It was not your business to be reading it in the first place. It was private,” Crane replied simply, folding his hands into his lap. “Thus, I don’t need to talk about it.” 

“Hare, I-“ 

“I would prefer that you stop calling me that; that is not my name.” 

Jervis’ lips tightened into a thin line, his knuckled tuning white as he put down the cup and began to slowly move his drink around in small circles. “So is that it? You can ask all the questions you desire, and yet I’m not allowed a simple inquiry?” Jonathan didn’t show his displeasure. “The matter is settled, Jervis, I-“ 

“I’m the Hatter,” Tetch interrupted. 

That small interruption caused Jonathan to pause, his mouth hung open mid-scold. He quickly clamped it shut, sitting up attentively as felt the urge to murder the man before him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, the only sound to be hear being the annoying sound of Jervis dragging his cup along the table. Was he a hypocrite? Yes, he very much was, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. Was he to blame for all of this? Debatable, but most likely. But Jonathan would be damned before he ever lost this battle to a man as psychotic as Jervis-mad-as-a-hatter-Tetch. Though it bothered him to no end, he was glad for the out it provided. “We agreed on this, Jervis,” he reminded, opening his eyes to glare at the other and putting emphasis on his name. Seeing the man’s eye twitch brought a spark of satisfaction in his core. “We left all that back at my hideout. No Wonderland. No name calling.” 

“Oh you know I could never leave Wonderland behind,” Tetch scoffed, leaning on the table as he grabbed his cup and finally took a sip. Thank god. Jervis picked up his own cup and began to drink as well. “Even so, Hare, you broke my rule when you lied to me about the entire trip. Now, let’s talk about that letter.” 

“You are not the Hatter, and I am not the Hare!” Jonathan snapped, temper flaring as he found himself raising his voice against the the Mad Hatter for the first time. “We are done talking about this, and that is final.” He angrily grabbed his cup, downing the rest of his tea as Jervis watched with disdain. “You can say that all you like,” he muttered, “but I am the Mad Hatter. That’s how it always been, but right now, you’re making me question whether or not you’re really the March Hare.” 

“Of course I’m not the March Hare,” Jonathan growled, his voice growing more stern my the minute. “I am not the Hare. You are not the Hatter. This is not Wonderland. Why can’t you accept that, Jervis? You’re not an imbecile, and we both know it. You know these schizophrenic delusions aren’t real, and yet you fall into them anyways. You came to me, knowing everything you saw and heard was complete and utter nonsense. Why do you keep clinging onto these hopeless, idiotic, inane, untrue pieces of fiction? ‘The Hatter’ is not your name, it’s another one of your delusions. They. Are not. Re-“ 

“Speaking of names!” Jervis suddenly shouted, coming to an brusque stand. “You seem to be obsessed with these names, isn’t that right? Always demanding I call you this or that and whatnot like the hypocrite you are. So, let’s talk about names, shall we?” He slammed his hands down on the table, making the cups shake. “So tell me, Jonathan, who is Karen Keeny?” 

That was a blow Jonathan was not prepared for. He was silent for a moment, his mouth clamped shut. Then, he placed both hand on the surface of the table and stood up. The two stared at each other, the tension thick the air. Then, without warning, he struck the Hatter straight across the face. The force of the blow caused Jervis to stumble back, a hand over his pained cheek. 

The doctor was panting, as though he had just run a marathon, just trying to calm his own rising temper as he continued staring at Jervis with a fear-inducing gaze only Scarecrow could pull off. The Englishman took a moment, rubbing his cheek and reeling from the shock of it all. He slowly gazed back up at the other, his gaze blank. Jonathan recognized that faze well. Any last bit of logic and reasoning had completely snapped within him. 

Jonathan frowned when he saw Jervis smile, a chuckle leaving his lips as his eyes crinkled with laughter. The chuckle turned into a soft laugh, but went no further. “Jonathan Crane, you are a very, very unhappy man,” he giggled to himself. Jonathan didn’t respond, a grimace expressing his distaste for the man. He wasted no time in turning around and leaving the tittering psycho to his delusions, making into his own designated room and grabbing his things, putting them away safely in the closet.  

He sat down in a chair, taking the time to set down his phone and close his eyes. Crane needed to calm himself down, taking in slow breaths as he tried to level his breathing. He became aware of his surroundings as he just concentrated on his own breathing and heartbeat. After a few minutes, he had effectively calmed himself down, able to think clearly, and so he took this time to consider the madman himself. He was tempted to leave Jervis right then and there, but didn’t want to risk anything at this point. Right now, though, he needed to be in a different room with the door locked, far away from the madman so he wouldn’t be murdered in his sleep. He pulled out his phone, already looking up directions to the next location so he could hurry in, get things over with, and leave as fast as he could. Without Jervis. The man would have him killed if they spent another car ride together.  

As Jonathan searched his phone for a good hour or so, he felt increasingly weary from that verbal spat they had. He was surprised Jervis hadn’t tried to come in yet. Perhaps he had knocked a bit of fear into him as well. He smirked at the thought. That would be satisfying to know. Rubbing his eyes with the balls of his wrist he took a moment to yawn deeply. That was odd; he was more tired than usual right now. 

It was probably from the stress of today’s events. 

Chapter Text

“Tickets, please!”  

These were the words Jonathan Crane woke up to. It was cold, dark, and all he could here was that jovial voice of an old partner. 

“Now then! Show your ticket, child!”  

He attempted to lift a hand to rub at his head, but was stopped by the rope binding his wrists at his back. He felt around for his handgun, but it was nowhere on him. Where was it? His eyes struggled to adapt to the leering darkness that shrouded everything. He blinked several times in an attempt to finally see. 

“Don’t keep him waiting, child! Why, his time is worth a thousand pounds a minute!” 

He was on the floor, that much he knew, and as he was finally able to see, he recognized it as the room Jervis had arranged his talk at the table. They were still in the warehouse. Jonathan had struck Jervis, as well as drugged his tea. 

Or, at least that’s what he had thought. 

“‘I’m afraid I haven’t got one,’ Alice said in a frightened tone: ‘there wasn’t a ticket-office where I came from.’”  

Wait. Where was Jervis? 

“There wasn’t room for one where she came from. The land there is worth a thousand pounds an inch!” 

He could hear his voice quoting that damned book, but for the love of god, he couldn’t see him. His head was too fuzzy to make out where it was coming from. 

“Don’t make excuses; you should have bought one from the engine-driver.” 

In an attempt to speak, his voice gave out and he coughed loudly, before finally being able to rasp, “Jervis?” 

He heard a soft laugh. 

“The man that drives the engine. Why, the smoke alone is worth a thousand pounds a puff!” 

He clenched his teeth, his head finally becoming clear. “Hatter!” he called out. That was it. 

Out from the corner of the room that had been shrouded in darkness came the Mad Hatter. There he was, fully dressed in his preferred attire. The green suit jacket, dress shirt and pants, the hat, the bow and gloves, and, much to his growing alarm, one other thing he didn’t remember being apart of Hatter’s costume. 

“Minutes, inches, puffs, and pounds; it can surprise a man how much things are worth,” the madman giggled, swinging the axe around in his hands like it was a cane. Jonathan was immediately at full attention, scooting himself across back the floor and wildly searching for a way out. The windows were blocked and the only real exit was past the man holding a deadly weapon. “Of course, different things are worth a different price to different men,” Hatter smiled to himself, looking off to the side in reverie, before swinging his head to glare down at the man before him. “However, we ought not talk about the prices of men we care not about; let’s talk about you instead.” He swung the axe back so it would rest on his shoulder. “Tell me, Jonathan, what do words mean to you? More specifically, that letter?” 

Jonathan kept his eyes concentrated on that axe, only straying to look for some sort of savior. Unfortunately, his handgun was nowhere to be seen. If there was any time he wished for Batman to burst through the weakened ceiling, it would be right now.  

That’s when he saw it. It was Jervis’ bag. Still left strewn carelessly about were a few of the things he had brought, including the cards. The thin cards were specifically to aid Jervis in mind control, and thus they had a metal backing to support the wires and such. He knew he couldn’t control Jervis, but he now had a way to get the bindings off. 

“Calm down, now,” he said gently, using a soothing voice as he attempted to talk sense into the raving man before he did something with very permanent consequences. “Jerv-“  

“No!” the Hatter screeched, anger flaring like a flame doused in lighter fluid. “That is not my name!” He ground his teeth, actively lowering his temper through sheer willpower. A trembling sigh left him as a smile was forced on his face. “Now, what was I saying? Ha! Tell me, how much would you pay to keep a mimsy letter from someone you’ve worked with time and time again?” he giggled, slowly stepping closer. “A hundred pounds? A thousand? A million?” He grinned, grabbing at the rim of his hat, unable to help the mad grin that displayed itself across his visage. “Or is it just your life?” 

Jonathan was at the bag, his hand fumbling for a single card as he tried to keep Jervis’ attention. “Jervis, listen to me. You’re not the Mad Hatter. I am not the Hare, and-“ 

“Oh, I know you’re not the March Hare!” Hatter laughed, a giggle escaping him. “I’ve very well figured that out by now!” He tilted his head, a hand on his him and the axe on his shoulder. “And as you should just as very well know that I don’t appreciate uninvited guests to my tea party!” He gave a little smile and shrug. “Who knows? I had a feeling that… oh what was his name? The Dormouse! He could replace you. I’ve always had a feeling about him, you know.” 

There it is. He quickly grabbed onto a single card. 

“Tetch, you’re suffering,” Jonathan spoke softly, keeping his voice at a steady and calm pace. “You’re delusional, don’t you see? Did I over react? Yes, I’ll admit, I got a bit too angry over nothing, but what you’re about to do is insane. We’re partners, remember? That’s why I brung you along. We’re friends. I’m your friend, and you’re trying to kill me because I got a little angry?” He forced his voice to grow shaky; not with fear, but with emotion. “Please, Jervis, I never meant to hurt-“  

“Stop calling me that!” the Mad Hatter snapped, placing both hand on the handle with an axe. Jonathan had only seconds, quickly scooting himself away just as the axe blade hit the tile ground. From jovial to now seething, Jervis glared at him with barely contained rage. In a single second, that very rage disappeared back into his giddy default state. “Oh dear dear, as much as you like your names, I’ll never get you to call me by proper name, will I?” he chortled. Jonathan only glanced at the now broken tile with a newfound weight added to the situation. He continued to work at the ropes, swiping the edge of the card against the thin binding, making sure to apply as much pressure as he could to get through the tiny fibers. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t like he had another option. He didn’t need to get through all the rope, just a single loop, and the rest would come loose. He needed to stall for time. 

“You’re right,” he replied, continuing to work his way back even more. “I never truly respected you or your identity, have I? Forcing you to suppress who you really were. Only putting my own needs before yours. I haven’t been the March Hare, have I?” 

Hatter was blank, staring down at him and taking his words in. He then smiled lightly. “You speak just like a doctor,” he finally said to him. “Though, I suppose that makes sense, doesn’t it, Doctor Crane? Remember that?” He gave a shrill titter. “Remember when I used to call you by that absurd name? That absurd title? Oh my, and you’re all the same as well.” His expression grew grave once more, as though he had recalled a bad memory. “You poke and you prod and you pry and you persist and you pretend!” He brought the axe down once again, narrowly missing the scampering Jonathan. “All you ever do is pretend! Pretend and ask questions, isn’t that right Jonathan?”  

Come on, he’s getting there. He stayed silent, urging Hatter to continue with pleading eyes. 

“Questions questions questions,” the Mad Hatter sighed, before he donned a more thoughtful look, his anger subsiding once again. “My mother used to ask a lot of questions, did you know that? I’m sure I ought to have mentioned her during one of your ruthless questionings. I’m positive you would have liked her. She was always curious about something, just like you. Just like Alice! Always questioning everything!” He let out a small laugh, before unexpectedly bringing the axe down once again in a burst of anger that faded as soon as Jonathan crawled out of the way. “‘Jervis, why can’t you be as smart as your sister?’” He smirked to himself, recalling the words of his own mother. “I can be twice as smart, I assure you, and so I was. I passed her in every course, too.” He smiled, almost seeming smug, and looked off for a moment. “‘Jervis, why can’t you behave in school?’ I can behave, mother. In fact, I’ll be the best-behaved lad you’ve laid your eyes upon. ‘Jervis, why can’t you become a doctor, like your father?’ I can, but I’ll do better. How does neurology sound? I’ll become the best man in my field and move to America. Doesn’t that make you proud?” He looked down at Jonathan, his rage slowly building. “‘Jervis, why can’t you act normally?’ I don’t because I can’t, but believe me, I’m trying! ‘Jervis, why don’t you take your medication?’ Because I don’t like my medication, mother, but I’ll take it if I must. ‘Jervis, who is Alice?’ ‘Jervis, what is wrong with you?’ ‘Jervis, how many times have I told you not to refer to me as your mum in public?’ ‘Jervis, why do you keep talking about Alice?’ ‘Jervis, why can’t you stop talking about Alice? She’s not your friend. She’s not real!’ ‘Jervis, Alice isn’t real! Why can’t you accept that she isn’t real?’” The Hatter swung down at the table beside him in a desperate attempt to break something, causing a deep split and a large crack in the wooden surface. Bits of wood exploded from the impact, with Jonathan feeling only the faintest remnants skew towards him. His anger only subsided slightly, and he proceeded to strike the table until the surface gave way and the entire structure broke into two split halves. 

“‘Jervis, why are you unhappy?’” he seethed, his voice growing weak. He glared down at the wide-eyed doctor with blurring eyes. “I’m not quite sure. Why can’t anyone just let me be happy?” He grimaced to himself, his expression morphing to a forced smile. He giggled, lifting the axe onto his shoulder once again as he no longer seemed to dwell on the haunting topic. “By the by, Jonathan, you doctors are incredibly good at listening to problems.” He let out a sigh, standing over him. “Well… I will miss you. I mean that. I can’t say I’ll mourn you, though. You were a good Hare for what you were, but I’m afraid there’s just no room, and I’m afraid the queen demands retribution.”  

He lifted the axe high, not intending to miss this time. “Off with your-!” 

“Wait!” the begging man quickly interrupted, catching the Hatter’s attention and forcing him to pause. “Before I go…” he began, “I’m going take you down with me.” And with that, Crane delivered a powerful kick to the man’s stomach, forcing him to the ground momentarily. He took this moment of freedom to leap up and dash towards the door, wrenching it open with his newly freed hands. He heard and shout of anger behind him, signaling the other was quick to get to his feet. He ran as fast as he could through the large main unit of the building, weaving through the giant shelves. He took only one quick glance behind him, the sight of a very mad Mad Hatter chasing him with an axe filling him with adrenaline. Had he not been in the situation he was in right now, he might almost say it was thrilling. 

Jonathan looped in and out of the colossal shelves, the Hatter hot on his trail, mad with a desire to chop the man into tiny, Dormouse-sized pieces. However, for someone as thin and scrawny as he was, the doctor could run like a track star. It wasn’t hard when an axe-wielding Hatter was constantly attempting to hack at him. He was too fast, though, and quickly Jervis was met with a door that was slammed directly in his face. Jonathan had managed to escape to his room and lock the food, of course, but that wasn’t about to stop the Hatter. No, not this time. Voices were screaming for him to get back up and bring off the man’s head in the name of the queen. Well, if the queen demands it. 

In typical “The Shining” fashion, he used the axe to start hacking down the wooden door, and it took surprisingly less effort than he ever thought at first. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but he’d be damned if he let a blasted door get in the way. He didn’t need to go through the effort though, for after only several swings, the door swung outwards with a kick, nearly knocking him to the ground in surprise. He was thankful it didn’t, though, as it gave him the time to leap out of the way from nearly having his head sliced off of his shoulders by a swinging blade. 

“Sorry about that, Jervis,” Jonathan chuckled, stepping out of the room with a grin almost uncharacteristic of him. What he twirled in his hands was a large and very deadly scythe, the blade just begging to be used to splatter the Englishman’s blood on the ground. “I thought I might level the playing field, is that alright? Don’t worry; I won’t miss this time.” 

The Wonderland denizen stared up it, now the one who was beginning to back away, dropped the axe. There is was: eyes widened, rapid breathing, that tell-tale shaking as he scrambled to get a grip on it. It made Jonathan’s own heart quicken its pace in sheer excitement. “Oh my,” the Hatter murmured. “I ought to run away?” Jonathan grinned, bringing the scythe behind his head in a swinging position. “Oh, you very much ought to.”  

Hatter stumbled as he lurched back, almost falling. Luckily, he moved forward just in time to avoid a fatal swing from the other’s blade. He almost tripped over his own feet, fear gripping his heart as he ran as fast as he could back down the very room he was just chasing Jonathan down, the said man’s laughter ringing behind him as he gave chase. 

Jervis was nearly struck several times, the scythe coming very close to decapitating him as he raced to the safety of another room. That was foiled, however, once he felt the very horrifying feeling of metal sinking into his shoulder. He let out a pained cry, the force actually knocking him to the ground, the blade still stuck in his flesh. That wouldn’t last long, though, as with a quick tug, Jonathan tore the blade out.  

His weapon now dripping with blood, Jonathan grinned perversely over him, a deep and trembling laugh escaping him as he grew excited over Jervis’ fear. “That was quite the fun little chase,” he chuckled, “but it seems your time had come to an end.” A grin splitting his face as he began to raise the weapon behind his head for one last final swing. “Thanks for the tea, Jervis. It’s been… interesting.” 

“Well then, would you like some wine with that?” Hatter spat with malice, suddenly turning around and pulling out a handgun. Ah, so that’s where that went. The Hatter shot Jonathan in the shoulder, forcing out a cry of pain from the doctor as he dropped his scythe. “That was for my shoulder,” the madman spat, quick to kick the other’s weapon away. As soon as he saw that he was distracted to the noisy skidding of his own weapon, he delivered a kick to Jonathan’s leg, forcing him to the ground. The doctor swore, turning to glare at the man who now had gun pointed at him. Hatter smiled cockily. Always the showman, he continued, “And this is for… well, everything els-“ 

That small talk was all it took for Jonathan to lurch forward and knock the gun out of Jervis’ already weak grip, watching it skitter across the concrete ground. Whilst the other was surprised, he took this moment to grab him by the lapel of his coat and strike him across the face with a single punch. “That’s for trying to kill me!” he hissed, but it was retaliated by Jervis delivering a blow to his stomach and turning the tables, now forcing him to the ground and hitting him square in the jaw. “Well that’s for attempting to drug me!”  

“Well, to be fair, there were three attempts, but you only caught onto the third,” Jonathan admitted with a grunt, paying no mind to the pain that rocked his being before kneeing the other in the chest. “And that was for drugging me!” He got struck across the face again by the Hatter, who replied with, “And you can count that was for all those questions and striking me for trying to get answers of my own and lying to me!” Jonathan just gave a tired scoff and elbowed him square in the face, knocking him off. Feeling the exhaustion shared between the both of them, he didn’t bother to get up. “And that’s just because I really want to murder you right now.” 

Jervis coughed, falling onto his back beside Jonathan and rubbing his aching face. He gave him a weak punch to the arm, more of a way to simply get the final word, and punch, in. “Likewise on my part.”  

The two frazzled criminals just laid there, the urge to kill each other still there, but now faded and without the motivation to act upon them. Some would say they just gave up, not really finding a point to be at each other’s throats over something so pointless. The blood loss didn’t help, either, waning their energy and will to keep going. Jonathan looked over at the man he’d just tried to execute medieval style, watching him with a newfound focus. Jervis was too distracted to notice the shrewd stare of the doctor. As he naturally would be, he seemed distracted, eyes pin-balling around wildly as his breathing shook heavily. 

“What are they telling you?” Crane asked, grabbing the other’s attention with a start. Jervis looked over in a panicky state of mind, taking the time to recognize what he was asking. This was the first time in a while that his doctor had acknowledged the voices in his head. “Oh a great many a things,” he whimpered, shutting his eyes tightly. “They’re just as confused as I am it seems.” He gritted his teeth, letting out a pained groan as a headache rocked his skull. Now, at the end of his episode, his mind was only clouded over by his delusions, attempting to discern fact from fiction. “They talk the nonsense of Wonderland, speaking of… err…” His brow furrowed in confusion, unable to think of the translation of what was no doubt a Wonderland term. “Oh sod it all,” he coughed, seemingly not wanting to make the attempt. “Ugh, I don’t suppose you have anything to relieve the pain, do you Hare?” Jonathan grimaced as the pain in his shoulder intensified. He made sure to place pressure on the wound. “Of course, and a first aid kit. Let’s just get patched up before we try killing each other again.” 

Silence dominated the next few seconds as the two focused on their wounds. “We have a lot to talk about, haven’t we?” Jervis sighed, looking over at his peer, who just stared at the ceiling with labored breathing. “That we do, Jervis. That we do.” 

“Hare?” Tetch squeaked, eyes continuing to shift around the darkened environment. He glanced over at the doctor with a strained smile. “Can I tell you something? Just in case I bleed out here? It would be awfully terrible of me not to get a story in; the Dormouse would be quite disappointed.” Tetch asked, grabbing his own slowly gushing wound. He let out a pained whimper, curling up slightly as he would do whenever he’d recover from bruises generously given to him by the Bat. “I’d say you have several minutes,” Jonathan panted, looking over to see the blood gushing from the harsh cut. He had done quite a bit of damage; he had genuinely tried to kill him after all. “What is it? I didn’t sever an artery did I?” Jervis’ breathing slowed, watching Jonathan carefully. “Surprise that you care enough to ask,” he murmured to himself before continuing. “It’s just that… well, when we were having our quarrel, during our talk about the letter…” 

“Yes?” he replied, grabbing at his own bleeding and aching shoulder. 

“Just before you struck me…” 

“Go on.” 

“When you said ‘Why can’t you accept that?’” 

“Oh for the love of god, Tetch, spit it out!” Jonathan snapped and twisted to look at him, a brief flash of anger causing the outburst. He hissed at the pain in his shoulder, sitting into an upright position. Jervis hurried to finish, pants briefly breaking up his words every so often. “Well… you said the word ‘you’ in a very peculiar way. As in… you pronounced it as ‘yew’.” Jonathan stayed silent, no longer panting. “And, well, as you got angrier, everything started sounding peculiar in that fashion. Slurred, if you will.” He smiled at his partner playfully. “Almost as if you had an accent.” 

Jonathan slowly turned his head to stare at the smiling madman. “Hatter, if you are seriously talking about this while we are bleeding out on the floor of an abandoned warehouse mere minutes after we tried to kill each other, I will crawl over there, take that gun right there, and empty the entire clip into your skull.” Jervis grinned sheepishly, giving a giggle as he merely nodded in understanding. “Do you feel for having some tea?” he asked quickly with a nervous titter. “Oh this is such an odd stray from the tea party. Quite the gloomy atmosphere if you were to ask me.” Jonathan just scoffed, sitting up whilst he held his shoulder. “I do, actually. Perhaps we can have a cup or two after I get us fixed up. Now come along, the aid is in my room, and I’d rather not pass out from blood loss. It’s not fun.” The Hatter had difficulty, but nodded and sat up as well, following the other to get their wounds cleaned, as well as to have a long overdue chat. 

Chapter Text

“Ah! Not so roughly, now,” Jervis hissed, wincing when Jonathan brought the parted flesh together further in a quick tug. He grabbed the edges of his seat tightly with his free hand until his knuckles turned white. His other hand was on his phone, currently on the news surrounding their own predicament. “Well you were the one who refused the painkillers, despite having asked for them,” Jonathan sighed, adjusting his reading glasses atop his nose and accidentally smudging a bit of the Englishman’s blood on the thin bridge. While it was still a bit dim, he was momentarily glad for the building’s lights to help him see, made possible through the tech expert’s guidance. He’ll admit he couldn’t find his way past the complex fuse box without the man’s help, not being as technologically advanced. “Well my apologies if I find it a bit hard to accept pills from you,” Jervis scoffed, showing sarcasm for the first time that evening. That was a good sigh, Jonathan noted; he was actively beginning to see past his own delusions. The neurologist whimpered quietly, wincing again as more of his flesh was pulled together by quick, but precise movements of his hands. Jonathan had to admit that the short-statured man was taking the pain fairly well, seeing as how there was a giant gash in his shoulder that he was now sewing together with nothing to dull the pain. The doctor himself felt the aching pain in the bullet wound in his own shoulder, which he had fixed up once Jervis’ own gash had stopped gushing blood. “Pray tell, are there any updates?” Jonathan asked, peering over his shoulder for a few seconds to gaze at the screen. Jervis merely grimaced, looking over at the screen as well with mild disinterest. His eyes were now heavily lidded from exhaustion both physically and mentally, and for a moment Jonathan silently wished he could spare the man from his own mind for a moment of peace. “More than a bit,” the patient sighed. “They’ve figured by now where we had headed. That… pawn that we met. The white pawn… oh where did we see here? The charmed lady we met at the diner?” He looked up at Jonathan, getting a confirming nod before he continued. “She identified us almost instantly, they said. She came forward and sang like the Duchess after her baby’s had a bit too much pepper. I’d say she’s determined to beat us, as well.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Now I regret giving the stupid girl a tip.” 

“We should be fine for a good day or so. We’ll leave as soon as we’re all ready and fit to go.” Grabbing the scissors, he tugged the last tear shut. “Alright, I’d say we’re done here,” Crane finished, cutting the thread and getting to covering up the stitched gash. A bit of pressure had Tetch gasping. “Gah! For a doctor, you’re not very gentle, are you- ngh!” He let out a pained hiss. “You definitely cut me deep, Hare. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had been trying to kill me.” Jonathan rolled his eyes as Jervis laughed at himself, cleaning the wound one last time before bandaging it. He no longer minded being called a rabbit, now finding it a good thing when it came to the Hatter, even if he was still a bit delusional at the moment. “I was aiming for your head. Besides, I’m a psychiatrist, not a surgeon, as you should very well know.” 

“Then just how do you know how to patch up the poor dear Hatter so well?” Hatter beckoned, cradling the bandaged wound once the other stepped away and put away the supplies. The schizophrenic buttoned up his bloody shirt once again, grabbing his equally damaged coat and tossing it on. “Medical school helped me pick up a few useful skills. It is mandatory we know certain essentials, such as CPR and the basics of first aid. I also get plenty of practice from stitching up a few of my henchmen. Unlike the drones you keep around, not all of them are expendable. If I can keep them alive, I’d like to,” the doctor explained, closing the lid to the first aid. He took in a deep breath, looking over at the Hatter, deciding to throw him a bone. “Now, about that tea?” 

“Ah! I’ll make a batch right away,” Jervis grinned, coming to a stand. The request certainly shook him out of that tired demeanor he had previously worn, an expression very commonly seen in the Asylum and not just in Tetch. He paused for a moment and quickly grabbed his hat and placed it upon his head. He then dug through his coat’s pocket, pulling out a bottle of very familiar sleeping pills. These caught Jonathan’s attention, and he watched in mild interest to see what would be done with them. Jervis merely glanced at him with a sneer, shaking the bottle and listening to the pills rattle. He then chucked the container across the room and against the walls of the corner. The lid popped off and the small white pills scattered. He looked up at Jonathan again. “If a single one of those pills goes missing off the floor, although it’s very upsetting to say such a thing, I will take you out at the kneecaps with that scythe of yours.” 

“Oh you couldn’t even carry it,” Jonathan scoffed, turning his back to him and going to wash his hands. He folded up his glasses afterwards, tucking them into the neck of his shirt. Humming a light tune, he then moved to the main room to grab his scythe and the handgun that had been used to wound him. For a brief moment, he was tempted to just blow the man’s head off, but that temptation passed quickly. He deserved a better death than that, and should it come to be the Scarecrow who delivers it, he would make sure it would involve having his head separated from his shoulders. Jonathan wasn’t a man to savor a death, but the Hatter in question wasn’t just any random thug he’d have killed. Forgetting those dark thoughts that invaded his mind, he carried the items back to his room, which Jervis was sharing with him after he had quite violently attacked and nearly destroyed the table in his own room. There was a nice table in the space he used now, so hopefully that wouldn’t be hacked to bits either. Speaking of their fight. 

“It seems like we still need to have that chat,” he called, walking into the room. “Ah, I know,” Jervis chirped, letting the tea steep as he moved over to his bag. “Luckily, I have a perfect solution for our little predicament.” Jonathan listen in silence, setting the scythe against the wall. “I’m sure you know it well.” He looked over, noticing his peer had set down a chessboard on the table and was now setting up the pieces. Crane couldn’t help but give a small smile from the sheer familiarity, walking over to observe. “Oh, I know it far too well,” he smirked, helping to set up a few parts to the game. Jervis loved this chessboard in particular, it having both red and white pieces instead of the typical white and black. Anything to please the Lewis Carrol fanatic he was, he supposed. “I’ll assume I’m red?”  

“Oh no no,” Jervis replied, checking up on the tea. “White. You’re the one who started this, so it’s only fair that you would go first.” Fair enough, he thought. Jonathan sat on the white side, watching as Jervis returned with a cup for the both of them. “You remember how this works, yes?” Tetch smiled, setting the cup in front of him before sitting down. The small small took his own cup into his hands, smiling at the warmth it brung him as he took a steady sip, taking a hand away only so he could rub at a temple in attempts to sooth his head. Despite it being associated with his alter ego, nothing calmed Jervis quite like a cup of tea. “Of course,” was the reply. “A captured piece means one question for the other.” Jonathan hated to admit it, but he wasn’t too thrilled for the oncoming interrogation, most likely because of Jervis’ newfound leverage of inquiries against him. He straightened himself in his chair, adjusting the pieces to face their opponents head on. He might as well make the most of this, all the while giving away his own secrets. Eye for an eye; he didn’t quite like that rule, but it was what he needed to play by for now. Though, with how much he had been through with his acquaintance, it wasn’t like he would be able to avoid it for much longer. If he lied any more, Jervis just might have his mind snap in two, this time using a gun instead of an axe. He was already in a fragile enough state as it was. “No lying,” he stated firmly. “And no avoiding the questions. The game does not continue until the question has been satisfied.” The other didn’t argue, seemingly finding it fair, though he was reluctant. They both had their secrets, and tonight, there were none.  

“Are you ready Jervis?” Crane said softly, bringing his voice back to a calming, soothing slow tone. Just the way he said his name caused Jervis’ mind to calm slightly, the voices having a much poorer grasp on his will. He nodded slowly, giving a confident smile. He sipped his tea, and with a handshake, the game began. 

Both men were thoughtful, no longer wanting to win but just trying to maximize their chances to capture more pieces. As usual, a pawn was the first to be taken, this one belonging to Jervis. 

“How did you find out about the pills?” Jonathan asked, crossing his arms on the table and taking a quick taste of his tea. Of course he didn’t quite like it, but at the moment he needed hydration. Jervis needn’t even hesitate to answer and he placed his pawn on a red square. “I saw you pour something into my drink while I went to get sugar,” he said simply. “I couldn’t identify it until you passed out in your room, but I figured it wasn’t good if your had to sneak it into my drink.” The other man moved a pawn forward as he continued to speak. “Though, sleeping pills? I would have used tranquilizers if I wanted to put someone to sleep, but your methods are yours.” 

Jonathan couldn’t help but feel slightly insulted, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. 

There were a few more moves before Jonathan knocked over an opposing bishop, though it would be at the cost of his knight. It was expendable, for he had his strategies laid out to capture his pieces. “Were you genuinely going to kill me?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. He just wanted clarification. 

“Oh most definitely,” Jervis hummed, thinking about his next move for a few seconds before placing a piece down into position. “I didn’t want to at first, but after you drugged, well, yourself,” he paused to give a soft laugh, “I’m afraid I lost myself there. I can’t even recall most of what I said during that time; a large blur for me, really. Though, after being stabbed and stricken in the face, those feelings have lessened considerably. I even thought about just filling the room with your toxin and leaving you there.” Jonathan shook his head, placing down his queen. “A nice idea, but I’ve developed an immunity to my own toxin. You should know this.” Jervis seemed to pout a small bit, his expression showing that he knew the fact, but he at least wanted to try it. He shrugged it off and immediately took up the knight. “Why did you drug me?” An easy question. He must be trying to warm him up before getting to the important inquiries. 

“It was just to ensure you wouldn’t cause trouble in the night,” Jonathan answered simply, receiving a skeptical look in return. “You’re a schizophrenic, Jervis. I told you around the time we first met that you are danger not only to yourself, but everyone around you. I’ve seen more than enough of your worse psychotic episodes. When you don’t take your medication at the asylum, you’re an absolute nightmare to have in the neighboring cell, according to Scarface. Remember the Ivy incident? You were utterly deranged when you were found. Not even Nygma could figure out how you got yourself into that predicament.” His eyes scanned the board as he spoke, finding it easy to multitask. “Not to mention your not in the best state after your delusions. At least while I’m awake, I’m able to tell when you’re about to lose it and prepare for the situation.” 

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Jervis agreed begrudgingly, moving another piece. Jonathan laid his plan out carefully, the small figures on the board becoming more intertwined and separated from their color groups. He captured another piece. 

“I suppose we should get onto the more serious questions,” he sighed, straightening up further. “Who is Alice?”  

Jervis sat back, staring down at the captured piece, before letting out a tired sigh. “I already told you,” he explained, “she was my best friend. She was there for me when, frankly, no one else wasn’t. She helped me through some pretty tough times in my childhood.” He looked to the side, taking a quick sip of his tea. “And… as you may have figured out, not everyone was as enthusiastic about her existence as I was.” Some even denied it, apparently.  

Jonathan collected another piece after he had his turn. 

“What happened to her, Jervis?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice steady and calm. After having a bit more tea, he leaned forward and knitted his fingers to show he had his full attention. Jervis pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a shaky sigh. “My mother started forcing me to take my medication.” He leaned onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Alice never liked that all too much, unfortunately. I couldn’t keep her around after that.”  

Jonathan knew it was disrespectful. He knew it was of poor taste and not at an appropriate moment, but he couldn’t help it. A small smile spread onto his face as he watched another figure be placed on a white square. He was a sadist at heart, he’ll admit; he enjoyed watching his patients become upset, even if it was solely his fault. “Oh poor Alice just gets lost sometimes!” Jervis grinned, his eyes shifting rapidly as he began to bite at his fingernails. “Stupid girl she is, really, although Wonderland was never quite easy to navigate.” Still, Jonathan had to remind himself that Jervis was just another patient, and to this he gently tapped the table to get the other’s attention. Jervis looked up, eyes widened as the dark spots seemed to deepen under his eyes. “We aren’t in Wonderland, Jervis,” he said calmly, no longer biting and demanding as he once was. Tetch almost seemed upset, grimacing at himself as he rubbed at his temples. “Oh yes oh yes… of course,” he agreed softly, nodding as he continued on with the game. Jonathan moved a rook once again, only to be surprised when it was taken away in a heartbeat by the other’s queen. Alright then, perhaps he should be paying better attention to the game at hand. 

“Who is Karen Keeny?”  

Well then, straight for the kill, was it? Jervis was not a man of mercy, so it seemed. 

For the first time, Jonathan didn’t answer, instead preferring to sit back and stay silent for a bit. Jervis didn’t mind, sitting back as well as he sipped his tea. They had quite a bit of time, what with being career criminals and the like. He understood, knowing this was a bit of a difficult topic for him if they had nearly killed each other over it. 

“She was my mother,” Crane finally answered, looking downward at the board and moving his own piece. Jervis was rather surprised, having assumed it was a lover of some sort. Though, then again, the thought of Jonathan Crane being affectionate towards anyone was silly in itself. He internally scolded himself for even considering such an absurd notion. 

“Your own mother?” he then inquired. “But why-“  

“Ah ah. One question at a time,” Jonathan replied, waving a finger at him. Jervis grimaced, but gave an understanding nod and immediately took up another figurine, much to the other’s silent disapproval. “Did you know her very well?” was the question. “Not at all,” was the answer. Jonathan leaned his head onto his hand propped up on the table. “She ditched me at birth after I was born out of wedlock.” 

“Ah, so you had a religious family?” 

“Tetch, I don’t know how you keep forgetting the rules, but it vexes me.” 

Jervis immediately grabbed up another piece as soon as the doctor had finished his turn, smiling smugly when he heard Jonathan curse a small “damn it” from his side of the table. “So if you didn’t know her all that well, why come all the way here?” he questioned. “That seems almost… pointless, really.” Now this is where Jonathan needed to stop and think, because if he were to be completely honest, he didn’t know all too well himself. However, he had to come up with a suitable answer if  they were to move forward any. It was about two minutes before he actually answered. 

“Closure,” he sighed, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the table top. “I just… needed to see her. To make sure. I mean, had she not left me where I was, I would have actually had a somewhat normal life. A life full of poverty, but better than the one I had, that’s for sure. Though the idea of even being with the woman makes me want to wretch and my life would undoubtedly have been miserable, it’s still better than what I had.” He noticed Jervis watching him closely. He stopped as he looked over the board, his next words coming in a stumbling wave. “Oh, and I happened to try and kill her and her infant daughter, so that is also a factor.” This seemed to brighten up the madman. “A sister? I didn’t know you had a sister,” he chirped, moving a rook forward. Jonathan shot him a small glare as he moved his bishop. “Refer to that little hell spawn as my sister again and I’ll kill you here.” Jervis just let out a giggle at the threat as they continued moving their pawns around. 

Jonathan finally snatched up the next piece. “Do you still have contact with your family?” he asked. 

“My sister checks up on me every so often,” Jervis sighed, shifting another figure and finishing off his tea. “But it’s clear she’s not too fond of me. As it turns out, they don’t like seeing me as a criminal.” 

Jonathan grabbed the next pawn again, causing Jervis to curse under his breath. “Oh, that one was going to be a queen,” he huffed, watching the doctor put it to the side . “Oh it hardly would have been possible, what with my rook on this side,” he replied, looking over the chessboard. “Now, why did you move to Gotham, and why did you stay? I’d reckon you’d have moved back to England by now.” 

“Are you joking?” Jervis chuckled, a smile crossing his face. “I’ll answer the first part, seeing as those are two separate questions. I left because a representative at Wayne Enterprises saw my work and offered me a job in Gotham as a part of their sciences department, all the way across the pond. It was a lot of money, and more than a great opportunity, so I took it and started my work.” He moved his piece. 

Jonathan took up a rook, causing the Englishman to make a face. 

“And as to why you stayed?” he hummed, setting the piece down and folding his hands in his lap. “Why wouldn’t I?”Jervis grinned, making use of his turn. “Have you met the people here? They’re grand. And the ones at the asylum are some of the best people I’ve ever met. They… treat me well.” 

Another of Jervis’ pieces were taken up. “I’d hardly say that. Please elaborate.” 

“They don’t want me to hide who I am,” he chuckled as he finished his turn. “Sure, they get annoyed from time to time, but they never tell me to act normal. They don’t want me to take pills or ‘get help’. They all… they all accept me for who I am.” 

“The Hatter,” Jonathan murmured in slow understanding, moving a piece, only to see it immediately snatched up. “Exactly!” Jervis smiled, setting the piece aside. “Now, more about your past. Who did you live with?” He took up another piece off the board. “What made it all so miserable?” 

Jonathan became reluctant, the urge to just stop the game here ringing out in his mind. He wasn’t comfortable with now being on the receiving end of a verbal barrage of questions. Add to that the fact that it was “mandatory” he tell all, one could see why he would be so hesitant to even speak. Despite this, knew there was no point in pulling away anymore now that he was this deep. If he were to confess to anyone, it may as well be Tetch or the priest at his death bed just before he makes one last final kill. “It was my grandmother,” he explained. “The blasted wretch she was. Cared more about some contemptible god that her own grandson. Add the local meat-headed sadists into the mix, and you have what sits before you.” 

“What did she do to you?” Jervis asked, taking up a piece after a few moves. This only served to make Jonathan irritated. “All sorts of things. Beat me. Starve me. Just hurt me in general. I would rather not go into detail.” He looked away for a moment. “The religious nut was creative, I’ll give her that. I still have scars.” With a few more moves, he took one of Jervis’ pieces. “Now, onto you. You reacted rather violently when you found out about the letter. Why were you so angry?” 

“Hare, you brought me on a trip across several states,” he replied, placing down a pawn. “Of course, I thought your first excuse may have been a little flimsy, but I was surprised that you agreed to having me along.” He sighed, looking down at the pieces, then up at his peer. “I know we’ve had our less than pleasant differences in the past, but I was… a little hurt when I found out, to be honest.” Jonathan quirked a brow, but let him speak. “I though… well, I thought there was a trust between us. Of course, I never expected you to tell me the entire story of that letter, but I at least would have appreciated the honesty. It wasn’t like I was going to judge you for it. I might’ve even left you alone if you’d had just given me a brief given me a brief explanation.” He frowned. “I thought we were-“ 

“Friends?” Jonathan finished, moving his queen. “Is that what you think we were?” Jervis blinked in surprise, a frown forming on his face before he took up the next piece. “Do you consider us as friends?” he asked. Jonathan merely moved his pawn to take out Jervis’ knight. “You’re in the wrong business if you think that,” he replied. “Now, where on Earth did you get an axe?” That seemed to distract Jervis from the previous question. “Oh, that? Well, after our quarrel in the motel room, I decided to take my anger out on a girl whose hair wanted a bit of cutting. The woman there had an axe in the back, so I brung it along and hid it in the trunk of our car.” 

Jonathan was about to move, when he suddenly paused. “Wait. You were going to kill me before our fight?” Jervis just chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry, Jonathan. You can’t ask anything when you haven’t taken a piece.” Crane blinked, staring at the man before slowly moving his queen, a piece that was taken up by the other queen. 

“Have you ever had a friend?” was the question that was asked. Jonathan didn’t know why he was obsessing over it, but he decided to answer as honestly as he could. “Have peers been nice to me? Yes. Friendly, even. Kind and caring, as rare as it was… but no, I never considered anyone to be a friend to me.” Jervis soon took up another piece with his queen. “So why did you bring me along?” 

Jonathan went silent, his brow furrowed as he opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He paused, looking over to the blocked windows, before gazing at the his peer, who waited patiently. “I don’t know,” was the final answer. 

“Oh come now, Jonathan.” The very idea of him admitting ignorance was absurd. 

“I mean it. I don’t know why I did,” he sighed. “I suppose it may have been from some foolish need to share a burden, but it wasn’t a very bright idea on my part.” He watched the queen take another of his pieces off the board. “So now that you’re here, and the police are now after us, what do you plan to do?” 

“Honestly? Leave,” Jonathan huffed. “I was stupid to think this was ever a good idea in the first place. The second we’re ready to head out, we’re leaving.”  

The queen took up yet another piece. “So all you ever came for was your mother?” Jervis asked, receiving a nod in return. “Mostly the reason. I wasn’t lying when I said I needed a formula, and I’m sure I’ll be able to find it in an old home of mine, but as of now, I don’t find it to be so important anymore.”  

Another piece was taken off by the red queen. Jonathan felt frustration. “So why did you guard this secret like you did?” he inquired. “You got so angry just from me finding out.” 

“I’d rather everyone not know about my upbringing,” he murmured, watching Jervis move again. “They don’t need to know. This is especially the case since I made this entire car ride because of a woman I barely know anything about. I felt strongly about it at the time, but should anyone else know, I’m sure they’ll only see it as me having… mommy issues, for lack of a better term.” 

“So you’re self-conscious about the subject?” 

Jonathan didn’t reply, instead using his bishop to take off that blasted queen. “It’s not your turn. Now, did you plan to kill me before?” he demanded. 

“Probably,” Jervis readily admitted, moving his own piece. “I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind at the time. I’d say I was debating it with myself rather strongly. Me and, ahem, the little voices I hear here and there. I suppose I was waiting for you to act out of like again just for an excuse to.” Jonathan quickly took up his last rook with a bishop. “I see. Do you ever wish to go back to England and reconnect with your family?” 

Jervis grimaced some as made his next move. “I certainly wouldn’t mind, but as of now? I have no interest.” Jonathan took out the last knight. “Would you say that you’re happy here?” 

“Yes. Very,” Jervis smiled, soon taking up that bishop with his own. “Although there are some faults from time to time, I honestly couldn’t see myself as being anything other than what I am now.” He let out a small titter. “I wouldn’t want to be anything else. Now, if I offered to help you get closure once we’re out of the building, would you like to take it? I don’t mind, really. We’ve traveled all this way for a reason.” 

“No thank you,” Jonathan replied, moving his own few pieces around. “We haven’t been here for a day and I’ve quickly realized this was all a mistake, and on top of that we’re almost about to he caught. I’d prefer we just leave. It wouldn’t make me any happier anyways.” Jervis visibly frowned. 

Within another move, Jonathan had taken up another piece. They were nearing his final question. “Do you ever think you’ll find Alice?” 

Jervis stopped as he was about to move his piece, pausing to think about it. He then gave his friend a smile. “Yes, I believe I will. She may not look the same or be what I imagined, but I’ll find her. I know I will.” He moved his piece in position next to his king. Jonathan was quick to snatch it up, setting his rook right next to the other’s king. Then, without warning, he grabbed onto Jervis’ wrist, causing the smaller man to freeze in surprise. Just as he had done long before, he forced up the green sleeve to reveal the sharp, faded lines running downwards on his wrist and upwards his inner forearm. He knew them well, seeing as his previous occupation required he know the signs and identification. Jonathan then sat back, gesturing to his once torn arm. “What happened?” was all he asked. 

Jervis had noticeably difficulty swallowing. He didn’t seem angry, but instead morose about the subject. “You can tell me anything. This stays between us,” Jonathan promised, bringing back familiar memories. “It was just an incident,” Jervis murmured, rubbing his wrist some. “I was in a bad place at the time. Could you blame me for such a thing?” He crossed his legs on the chair, moving his sleeve back up. “I was unhappy. I was unhappy and I didn’t know how to make it go away. I felt like I was being suffocated under a pillow, just slowly dying and unable to breathe.” He looked away for a moment. “The doctor said I was troubled. That I needed help. They only prescribed me more pills, of course, telling me to get outside more or make friends. Still, no one ever listened. No one ever bothered. Antidepressants never seemed to work. I was left thinking to myself that if pills could no longer fix me, then maybe just not meant to be happy. As foolish as it may have seemed, I genuinely believed I wasn’t meant to live a happier life, and that it would never get better for me, no matter what I did. I had accepted it into my life, thought it to be truth. And when I told my mother, she never pitied me. She only thought the medication wasn’t doing the job.” He took in a shaky breath and swallowed thickly. “She believed it was from my schizophrenia, not actually taking into consideration that I depressed. She didn’t think I had any reason to be so.” He sighed, looking back at Jonathan, who retained eye contact. “Then, one day, I don’t know what happened. I suppose I had a bit of a mental breakdown, and barricaded myself in the bathroom. My sister was the one who had called emergency services. Had it not been for her, we wouldn’t be here talking right now.” He played with the empty tea cup, gently moving in in circles. “Even after all of that, no one could understand why I had any reason to be unhappy.” His frown turned into a contrived smile, and a small chuckle exited from him. “But that’s all over now. That was the past, and quite frankly, I’m better than I ever was.” He took his king, flicking off one of the last of Jonathan’s pieces. “So tell me, Jonathan, have you ever had a time where you were truly happy?” 

Jonathan stared down at the board, looking up to make eye contact with him. “Yes. Just once, when I finally murdered and did away with everyone who had tortured me during my childhood.” He smiled softly. “To see their fear and the regret for what they had done to me. To finally be able to wretch the life from their bodies and to hear them beg for mercy. It filled me with excitement and a happiness I’d never known before. Morbid, maybe, but if I were to be honest, that would be the only time I’ve ever truly felt happy. Joyful, even. They hurt me, and now I could finally send their souls straight to hell. I don’t regret it a single day of my life.” 

Both men shared a smile and looked down at the board. The only pieces left were the kings. “A stalemate,” Jervis hummed, looking down at all the pieces they had captured. He then moved his hand to shake Jonathan’s, which he gladly returned. “Good game.” 

Jonathan finished off the last of his tea with a sigh, getting up. “Well, that was beneficial, I’d say,” he stated, stretching some. “Now, if you’d don’t mind, I’d like to leave.” 

“Likewise. I’d say I’m perfectly fit for the venture,” Jervis agreed, already beginning to pack up his things, he pulled out his phone, seemingly to check up on something. 

Jonathan moved to the main room, going over to pick up the axe Jervis had left lying at his door. He scooped it up, about to go pack it in the trunk, when he noticed a peculiar flashing light shining through the windows of the double doors up front. The lights shone a vivid red and blue, colors what he knew all too well in his career as a criminal. He swore to himself, rushing back into the room and startling the Englishman. 

“Jonathan-?” 

“It’s the police,” Jonathan growled, moving over to his bag and shuffling the items around to find what he was looking for. Jervis, immediately worried for his and his friend’s safety, hurried over to the front of the warehouse. A quick peek out of he boarded glass panels revealed no bluff; a few police cars and SWAT vehicles were stationed outside the building, with surely more surround its perimeter as well. Letting out a swear, he adjusted the rim of his hat as he moved back into the room Jonathan was currently in. “How did they find us?” he groaned, starting to pace frantically. “What do we do?” 

“I suppose there’s only one thing we can do,” Jonathan huffed, his shoulder’s slumping in momentary defeat. They were surrounded by police, and any moment, they were going to barge in and make the entire trip more in vain than it previously was. His mind searched for possible exit routes, all of them most likely blocked off. He searched through his bag, looking for a canister of fear gas, before stumbling across a familiar burlap mask. He blinked at it, having completely forgotten about Scarecrow. Scarecrow had never left, however. He clearly recalled the fear Jervis displayed and that interaction alone caused his heart to beat faster and his thoughts to race. Then, with a sly grin, he looked back up at the panicking haberdasher. “Hatter,” he called to him, immediately catching his attention. “Yes? What is it? We don’t have much time, mind you,” he fretted, the stress of the impending arrival of a few unwelcome guest. Crane just smirked, pulling out a bundle of clothes and, more importantly, Scarecrow’s mask. “Mistress Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” 

Jervis blinked, silent as he was momentarily confused. However, as expected, his mind quickly lit up to the rhyme. An mad grin came to his face as a night’s worth of were swiftly undone with one simple line. He quickly came to a sudden jovial state, clapping his hands in excitement. “With cockle-shells and silver bells, and pretty maids all in a row!” 

“Exactly,” Jonathan grinned, pulling out the metal cards Jervis kept stored in his bag, handing them over to him. The Hatter quickly took them, listening to the voices and their encouragements. With the stress of the event weighing heavily on his mental state, all it really took was Jonathan’s encouragement for logic and reasoning to be overtaken by the plague that was Wonderland “Now, I suggest we prepare quickly. We’re going to have a few uninvited guests to our tea party,” Scarecrow grinned, forcing Jervis’ gaze to lift to his with a simple touch of the underside of his chin. Wide blue eyes filled with reverie quickly met narrowed and malicious gray ones. In that moment the two seemed to know what the other was thinking, knowing they had to show the town just what Gotham had to offer. Scarecrow tore his gaze away and grabbed his scythe, twirling it around in his hand for a quick second. “Let’s make them regret that, shall we?” 

Chapter Text

“Alright, men,” the commissioner barked out to the force of men parked a good hundred feet from the entrance to the building.  

Inside the warehouse, it was pitch black. The lights had been shut off, shrouding the interior in a layer of darkness. The only light that shone was from the flashing beams of the police cars and the bits of moonlight that was able to slip between the cracks of the boarded up windows. The two listened in closely from their own window, grinning to themselves and to each other as the commissioner gave his orders. 

“Inside are Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch, but you may know them as Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter,” the chief explained, his voice raised so the entirety of the force could hear him. “They are two escaped asylum patients from Gotham and are extremely dangerous. Now I know that escaped criminals from other states aren’t usually within our jurisdiction, but when they come into our home and slaughter a few of our people, that’s when it becomes our problem.” He got a few supportive calls in response. “Remember that these two are still human. We needn’t kill them unless absolutely necessary.” He looked back at the building for a second before turning to his men. “Be sure to keep your gas masks on at all time. This is a large place, so we’ll need to split up. Stay in pairs, and don’t let your partner out of your sight for even a second!” 

Gas masks and grouping in pairs? That would serve to be a bit of a challenge. The two moved away from the window just as they heard the last of the pep-talk, the SWAT team soon kicking in the front doors, swarming in at a rapid pace and shutting the doors behind them. Two members stood watch over the front entrance while two more took to the back exit, the flashlights attached to their weapons sending beams of white light scanning around the area. With a vast array of large shelves taking up the majority of the interior of the warehouse, they would have a bit of ground to cover, as well as needing to check each side room. With the power off and their flashlights only barely reaching the dark crevices of the complex, searching wouldn’t be an easy task, but with a team of twenty inside the building, scoping out the place wouldn’t be so hard when looking for two human beings. 

They carefully scanned the area, making sure to search in every room, leaving no closet unchecked and no dark corner lit up.  

“That’s kinda weird,” one SWAT member mumbled through his gas mask, coming across a room with a table smashed up in the center. “What’s up?” his partner sighed, walking into the room after him. He jolted slightly upon hearing her enter, his nerves shot with every unexpected noise and movement. “Fuck- don’t do that to me,” he hushed to her. “Thought you were one of the freaks for a second. Nearly blew your head off. Did you see anyone?” She gave him a glance, shaking her head as she approached the broken table. “Jeeze, what happened here?” She looked around, noticing a fallen playing card on the floor face up beside a disheveled duffle bag. “Did someone lose a bad game of poker or something? And what do you think’s in the bag?” 

“Who knows what these freaks do?”  he mumbled in response, gesturing towards a door off to the side, presumably leading to a small storage space. “C’mon. Let’s just check out the closet and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.” 

“What, you’re not actually afraid of these masked guys, are you, Jay?” his partner criticized, her voice still soft to display her concern as she began taking a quick look over the darkened corners. “They’re just two psychos who like to play dress up.” She gestured to the bag. “Let’s do the bag first. It might have something important. Stay calm. We’re in partners for a reason. They can’t sneak up on us. He grimaced under his gas mask as he approached the luggage on the floor. For all he knew, there was a bomb in there. “Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, referring to her previous comment and grabbing ahold of one of the straps on the bag. “I heard they’re sick, like they like to torture they’re victims. Experiments or something. You can’t be too cautious, y’know?” With a deep breath, Jay opened up the already unzipped bag, pointing his weapon inside and illuminating its interior. So his slight relief, it was empty. He let out a quiet sigh, making sure to take a good look inside before tossing it aside and making his way back over to his partner. “Nothing. Empty. You think we’re lucky enough to just have them skip town or something?” he joked, going back over to his partner. “Oh stop being such a pansy,” she sighed, a bit of a chuckle edged onto her voice. “Though, you’re probably right. I don’t think they’d be stupid enough to try and stick around. They’re probably long gone by now. Let’s just finish up the cl-“ 

THUD.  

She blinked in surprise, her head twisting to stare at the wall the sound emitted from. “Was that next door?” she asked, her voice now lowered to a frantic whisper. “Yeah, I think so,” her partner replied, raising his gun to its proper level. “It’s probably just one of the guys. You finish searching the room. One of them could still be in the closet or something. I’ll check it out.” That was said with great reluctance fogging his mind. “They’re just human,” he mumbled under his breath as he exited the room, looking over at the door adjacent to the one he had just left. “They’re just human.” He heard a faint sound coming from the room. He immediately tensed up, keeping the grip on his gun tight. “They’re human, Jay, just like the rest of us,” he whispered. 

“Twinkle twinkle little bat, 

How I wonder what you’re at.” 

He stopped in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. He had trouble breathing in the gas mask, finding it to be stuffy all of the sudden. With a gulp, he was tempted to just turn back to the room he had just left, but reminded himself that he was the one with the body armor and the gun. He had nothing to be afraid of. Fear was biggest enemy here, and he’d be damned if he would let it get him now where it truly mattered. 

With a trembling breath that he had tried vainly to keep steady, he damn near kicked the door open, waving the barrel of his gun in a well-trained scan of the room. The bright flashlight attached to his weapon lit up the a small circle of the area, coming to a stop when it found itself illuminating a figure sitting at a circular table square in the middle of the room. There were three chairs in total, one currently occupied with the other two pulled out as if guests had left in a hurry.  

The man Jay quickly identified as Jervis Tetch due to the large top hat placed neatly upon his head didn’t even look up from his tea cup, stirring it idly as he seemed to admire the recently used chess board and pieces set up before him. An empty tea cup was placed just across the chess board, the game itself having only two kings left on its tiles. The sources were right: he dressed as though he had just hopped out of the Lewis Carrol book itself. White dinner gloves drummed along the table as he stirred, humming along to a familiar, yet disquieting tune. 

“Up above the world you fly, 

Like a tea tray in the sky!” 

A thump in the next room over completely flew over the officer’s head as his focus was trained on the criminal before him. 

Tetch seemed completely oblivious to the fact that a lethal weapon was aimed straight at him, instead opting to sip his tea calmly, as if Jay wasn’t even there. The officer felt a certain drop in his stomach, fear seizing his heart as his grip became more shaky. “Jervis Tetch!” he shot, his voice donning a more commandeering tone as he had been trained to do. It was at this time that the schizophrenic finally seemed to notice him, lifting his eyes with a subtle hint of surprise. Surprise turned to a more jovial countenance as he didn’t even bother to stand up, his eyes half-lidded and seeming vague as he let out a small titter. “Oh you’re here!” he greeted, his back straightening and his hand never leaving the spoon in his cup. Jay tensed at the movement, lifting the gun higher as he aimed down its sights. “Get on the ground and surrender peacefully,” he ordered, fighting to keep the composed tone of his voice. The Mad Hatter didn’t do as ordered, instead leaning back in his chair with a disappointed expression. “Ah, the difficult option, I see?” he hummed, before pointing the spoon at him. No, not at him, but more up and to his right, just above his shoulder. “Oh March Hare, would you mind helping our guest to the table?” 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

The door behind Jay shut with a creak of rusted hinges, his nerves now in a shock as he struggled to even keep the gun pointing straight. Breathing hitched, he only now became fully aware of the presence behind him, the little moonlight there was casting a second shadow beside him, posed directly behind his own. Taking he chance of turning his gun away from the Hatter, he turned his attention to the figure behind him.  

The burlap-clad man stood only a few feet from him, hunched slightly as he took in heavy breaths from his most recent activity. A noose hung loosely from his neck and his brim straw hat was tilted up slightly, giving Jay a good look at the man- no, the monster’s black pits in the mask where his eyes should be. In the ray of the gun’s flashlight, glimmers in the blackness could be seen, his eyes appearing wide and almost unfocused, but still stared intently back at him. Was it him, or did that crazed smile stitched onto the burlap seem to only grow wider? Vials of his infamous toxin were strapped to his middle as well as his forearms, proving him well armed and revealing his rail-thin figure. Jay was quick to notice the outfit was speckled with blood that wouldn’t be seen had the light not been trained on him. In one gloved hand was his scythe, held at the ready and with a blade dripping with thick red blood. The same viscera clung to one glove, where he held a familiar severer head, this one’s skin also stained with the nauseating liquid. The sight nearly brought him to his knees. 

“O-oh my god-!” He was unable to say anything else, helplessly watching the Scarecrow toss the head of the once respected officer to the side like it was nothing. “I suggest you have a seat over there,” he hissed, gesturing to table as he took a step towards the now trembling man. 

“Stop!” Jay spat, jutting his gun forward. “Not another step, o-or I’ll blow your fucking head off you sick fuck!” This only served to extract a maniacal giggle from the Scarecrow, his eyes no longer on the man in question, but instead the Hatter behind him. “A man of words and not deeds is like a garden full of weeds,” he laughed, only taking a step closer as the quivering man fumbled with his gun, but couldn’t seems to find the trigger anymore as the monster before him slowly approached. 

When the first blast of a gun sounded, it was heard by everyone within the dark facility. The patrol was halted as everyone took a moment to try and see what had just happened in one of the rooms. Eyes turned to the door, fingers on their triggers. They were quickly relieved to see one of the SWAT members, Jay, cross through the previously doorway, stumbling out like he was disoriented. 

“Jason? What happened in there?” One of his partners demanded, coming closer as he noticed the other’s heavy breathing. “I got him,” Jay mumbled, coming to a full stand with his gun in hand limp at his side. “Whoa, what? Got who?” another demanded, approaching the door with their weapons at the ready, nearly blinding the poor man with beam of bright white light. He covered the lenses of his gas mask, in an attempt to shield his eyes, eventually just undoing the straps and ripping the mask away, still leaving on his protective helmet. “The Scarecrow. I shot him just before he could get me. Came at me with a scythe. Target is neutralized,” he breathed, not taking his eyes off of them. “He didn’t have any of that gas on him. I think it’s safe to take off your masks. There’s no use blocking your vision in this light if he’s already dead.” 

“What a relief,” an officer sighed, taking her mask off. A few others followed suit, but the rest didn’t bother. “Hold on, team,” barked another, “Tetch is still somewhere in the building. We need to clear the area and find him before we can know it’s safe. Who knows what that freak has on him. The protocol hasn’t changed. Keep going until we know Tetch is either captured or taken down.” Though there was a clear reluctance, a portion of the once heavy weight had been lifted off the team’s back, knowing they had put down one of the threats.  

Two of the still-masked SWAT entered the room their peer had just exited, making a quick scan across the room and lighting up the floor as they searched. They had expected to come across a body, perhaps slumped over or fallen with blood pooling around it, but there was none. There was a bit of blood found here and there, but nothing that would indicate being shot to death. Their faces etched in confusion under their gas masks, they looked back at Jay, who stood in the doorway, observing them. Something about him seemed odd, but they were to focused on their mission to really focus. While his rigid posture was expected from someone in this situation, there was something up with the way he stared at them. He just couldn’t place a finger on it. That’s when they noticed Jay’s partner was missing. 

“Hey Jay,” one of them called over after searching the room and finding a whole lot of nothing. “Where’s the-“ 

He was quickly interrupted when said officer took up his assault rifle and blasted both partners in their heads before they could properly react. The shots were heard clear as day, as well as quick shouts of terror that echoed throughout the building just before they were cut off by a blast from the powerful weapon. Immediately five more officers crowded into the room to see what was going on, in shock to see both men on the ground and blood pooling around their decimated heads. The reaction took a few seconds, but within moments, the culprit was pinned to the table. Jay didn’t even put up a struggle, dropping his assault rifle as everyone else tried to make sense of this entire situation and trying in vain to bring the other two back. The mess of confusion prevented the five from noticing the figure moving past the door and silently closing it shut. 

In the middle of the interrogation of the culprit, the group of five was too busy to notice the faint odor that seemed to fill the room. It was an almost toxic smell, like a mix between death and rubbing alcohol, but seemed to had a faint hint of, funnily enough, pumpkin. 

It wasn’t long before the screams started. It started off slowly, with faint panicking, the team too blind to realize their removed gas masks would have actually done them a bit of good. It wasn’t their fault, though; the monsters looked too real to possibly be fake. Labored breathing and panicked shouts were quick to turn into tortured screams, shocking the eleven SWAT stationed in the rest of the building. For a solid minute, panicked screams and pleas for mercy were the only things that were heard. Once a gunshot rang out, of the officers guarding a fire exit seemed to finally have enough and rushed over to the unlocked door with his mask quickly pulled on. The second he opened it, however, he was met by a burst of toxic gas flooded out of the room, as well as a fatal shot to the neck. Four of the five SWAT, who had only entered with intentions to help their comrades, exited in a fearful panic, screaming at imaginary monsters or perhaps begging their nonexistent family member not to pull the trigger on themselves. The fifth one was still left in the room, previously curled up into a ball in a catatonic state before he had ended his own life. Another was practically tearing at his own skin to spare himself from the delusions of his own mind. Posts and stations were abandoned as the rest of the team rushed to try in vain to somehow help in calm them down, but were only met with fearful screams and attacks. 

Jay exited the room, staring at the chaotic scene as his once colleague was blown away by one of the fearful maniacs and their rifle. He blinked in small surprise when he heard himself be beckoned to the next room over. He started blankly for a second, before obeying and making his way into the room. It was so dimly lit, but despite that, the card slid under his helmet could easily get him to recognize the smaller man giving the orders. He let the man his mind once registered as a threat reach up and touch him, checking the placement of the card and seeming to take in his expression. “Oh this one’s much better. Your synapses seem to be reacting at a much more efficient level,” the Mad Hatter hummed with a giddy grin fully formed. “How delightful. Most of the other rabbits aren’t as convincing.” He narrowed his eyes in slight disdain, his gloved hand retracting as he turned to straighten his bow tie. “I’ll have to remind myself to make more of these cards. They seem to be working better than my deck I had made-“ 

“Hold it!” 

Mad Hatter was interrupted by the bark of one of the remaining SWAT, his gun focused on the center of his head. Apparently one of the sane officers had seen them and decided to break away from the madness in order to investigate. Hatter blinked in silent surprise, before letting out a soft titter of amusement. “Oh dear, oh dearest me, you gave me quite a fright there,” he laughed, before gesturing to his puppet. “Unfortunately, you weren’t invited.” He looked over at Jay. “Rabbit! No room!”  

Before the offending officer could figure out what that even meant, he was shot a good seven times by the mindless puppet. Hatter gave him a pleased smile once the body had dropped and blood had collected on the ground. 

The shots went unnoticed by the chaos outside. Another SWAT had been shot to death by the crazed teammates, forcing the rest of the team to make the difficult decision to put them down. Despite their reasoning above the panic, they couldn’t seem to get the four down, and it was quickly realized that there was no way they would be able to regain the situation without having another member killed. A few more shots rang out, everyone seemingly disregarding the seven bangs that had sounded just moments before, as they were too stricken with fear and grief to really care. Scarecrow watched on from behind one of the towering shelves in silent glee, unable to contain the mad chuckled erupting from his lips. Unfortunately, his experiment had been cut shorter than he had hoped it would last, but he knew there would be more. 

Moving away from the shelves, he headed back to his room where his things were stored. He only wanted a quick check to see how much of his toxin was left, but had his attention drawn away when his perceptive hearing quickly noticed the heavy thumps of jogging footsteps coming towards his location between the empty pallet racks. He could easily see beams of light bouncing on the floor, coming closer at an alarmingly fast rate. 

“He’s in here! I saw that fucker drag himself ‘round here. Corner him!” 

Scarecrow tensed, his lack of fear only allowing him to feel the adrenaline that coursed through his blood. He gripped his scythe tightly, moving under a pallet rack to hide himself in the empty space, moving his weapon under him so the blade wouldn’t peek out and give him away. 

The footsteps slowed as what turned out to be three guards steadied their aim and began their search around area. Scarecrow’s heart only seemed to speed up as he began to notice just how dire the situation was becoming. The moment he was seen, he would be riddled with holes. With three of them actively searching for him, it would be hard not to be spotted. Still, he couldn’t help the grin that stretched his face, his fingers only tightening around the handle of his prized weapon as his eyes flickered around to survey his situation. Feet slowly moved past his location, beams of the flashlights only barely missing him under the shadows of the rack he was hidden under. An idea quickly formed in his head, and he waited for two of the three to move away.  

Once one of the unsuspecting gunmen passed his way again he was quick to slink from under his hiding place, wasting no time in approaching the man from behind, raising his scythe, and taking a good slash at the man’s ankles, slicing straight though his achilles heels and rendering the man unable to walk as he fell to his knees. As expected, he screamed, but unfortunately his terror was short lived, as he placed the inner curve of the blade to his neck and a foot on his back. By the time his friends dashed over to investigate, his head was already clean off of his body, and Scarecrow himself had sunk back into the darkness. Blood dripped from the blade and down the handle, wetting and staining his gloves with the crimson he had quickly grown adoring of.  

The two stood in shock and fear, trying to process just how their friend’s attack had gone unnoticed by them. They didn’t have long to think about it, however, as they weren’t paying attention the the open and empty shelves beside them, shadowing the killer they sought from the limited view of their flashlights. A wide blade quickly jutted from the open space, and before they could realize it, one was choking on his own blood when legs had been taken out from under him. The other officer screamed in shock, taking a shot at the now vacant space where the attack had come from, her light not catching a glimpse of anyone. 

“Doctor Crane!” the guard shouted into the void of blackness, frantically waving his flashlight around in an attempt to catch just a snag of the man in question. “Crane, stop this! You can’t do this-!” 

“I’m sorry, the good doctor isn’t here right now,” hissed a voice directly behind the guard, causing him to freeze as a terror never known to him before seized his heart. His heart pounded, his eyes widened, his body grew stiff despite his greatest efforts. It was almost ecstasy to watch. A burst of mad laughter rang out, chilling his blood. 

“There is only Scarecrow!” 

And with that, the large blade of the scythe was quickly lodged deep into the man’s gut. The only pause was to watch the man spit up his own blood, before Scarecrow yanked the tool from the man’s stomach, his maniacal laughter only growing louder in a sadistic glee. His laugher subsided quickly enough as he watched him crumple to the floor with a choking gasp. He merely grinned down at him before moving to the helpless man on the floor, his legs no longer to be found under him. A quick foot on his back and a swing of the blade took the man out with ease. 

Bloodied and with adrenaline pumping through his veins, Scarecrow took a moment to get a hold of himself. It wasn’t easy; his mind could barely focus as he tried to calm himself down with steady breathing and nearly no results. He needed to find Mad Hatter. For all he knew, the fool could have gotten himself killed. He turned in place, only to meet the barrel of a gun pointing straight at his face. 

“Oh you must be joking…” he scoffed in annoyance, taking a step back away from one of the few remaining guards. The SWAT member’s expression was unknown from under the gas mask, but if he were to guess, the man was probably angry.  

A finger was put to the trigger. Just a quick pull and- 

Scarecrow was only half surprised when he witnessed his attacker collapse to the ground, the blade of an axe lodged into his neck. The Mad Hatter stood there where the threat had once been positioned, attempting to wipe any bits of blood off of his coat. His expression was one Scarecrow could only chalk up as immense satisfaction and smugness. The Hatter looked down at the crumpled body, his face splitting into a mad grin as a high-pitched giggle left him. “If Time wasn’t such a prude, I’d say it’s about Him that I’d finally get to use that rusty old thing,” he laughed, crossing his arms and looking up at his friend as his demeanor calmed. The burlap-clad Scarecrow, however, was still affected by his adrenaline high, swinging the blade back in an arc until the handle landed on his shoulder, making carrying the heavy blade much easier. 

“I could have taken care of himself myself,” Scarecrow spat, trying to control quickened breathing all the while, only to receive an eye roll from the other criminal. “I’m sure, I’m sure,” he replied curtly. “Poppycock if I’ve ever heard the name.” 

“So where is this puppet of yours?” the taller male questioned with shaky breathing, looking around the darkness that his eyes had already grown accustomed to, searching for anyone else they’d have to dispose of. He hoped not; as much as he was hopped up on adrenaline-fueled madness, he didn’t think he could stand to take out anymore people. “Oh, the rabbit?” the smaller male replied, walking back go the entrance of the building. “I’d say he’s taking care of the last two pawns.” 

Two shots from the gun were heard. 

“Well, that’s all of them.” He stopped to watched the mindless Jay stumble back over to them. “All except him,” Scarecrow pointed out, gesturing to Hatter’s rabbit, to which the haberdasher made a pouting expression. “Oh, but this one is my favorite by far!” he huffed, looking back at his puppet, now splattered with the blood of his coworkers. “I think I did a fairly good job on this one! With how scared you’ve made the bloke, he’s practically free to do with as we please.” 

“Hatter,” Scarecrow hissed lowly, to which Jervis sighed, giving in. “Fine,” he sighed. “What shall we do with him?” 

The two stared at the man for a few second, before Scarecrow quickly clasped his hands together with a laugh. “Oh, I have an idea!” 

It was only a few minutes later that Jay stumbled out of the dark building, confronting the shocked faces of other officers and his superior. He stared ahead blankly, as if not even registering what was going on around him or the concerned faces of people he was supposed to know. The captain approached him, noticing the blood that was splattered all over the man’s clothing. Before he could even ask what happened, the last remaining SWAT member took his rifle fired a blast straight into the stomach of the captain. The second he was on the floor, Jay took the barrel of his gun, stuck it into his mouth, and despite the immediate protests, blew his own head off in front of the entire police force. 

Chapter Text

“As of now, police are unable to locate the two criminals, Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane, better known by their criminal personas as the Mad Hatter and the Scarecrow.” 

Bruce Wayne was drawn away from his phone call upon hearing the two familiar names on the television. He raised a brow, initially confused as he watched the news report., he leaned back on his chair, paying more attention to the woman presenting herself on TV rather than his friend on the other end of the line. 

“With a count of twenty-one confirmed kills by the pair, including twenty SWAT and the chief of police, Walter Paloozi, the town now lives in fear every waking hour of the night. No one knows why they’ve come to the small town, nor why they have decided to join forces, but one thing is for sure: they won’t slow down if they aren’t stopped.” 

“Hey, Lucius, I'm sorry, but something just came up. Yeah, trouble. We'll talk about the device later. I’m gonna have to call you back,” Bruce sighed, quickly hanging up the phone and rising from his chair. “Alfred, turn up the volume.” 

“We’ve had several reports that the kill count is higher than originally expected, with two new bodies having appeared so far fitting Tetch’s MO. Without the town's personal Batman to stop them, and the police force showing to have been a poor match for them, it seems that anything can happen at this point, and we can only pray for their safety as they are forced to adapt to Gotham's special breed of crime. Stay tuned for more as the story develops.” 

The two stared at the TV as they quickly flashed images of the criminals, both in costume and out of costume. “It seems that I may have to work out of state, Alfred,” Bruce sighed, turning off the television and heading to the bookcase that hid his biggest secret. Alfred followed after him dutifully, standing by as they waited for the bookcase to shift out of the way to reveal the entrance to the Batcave. “Usually I wouldn’t suggest having other states outsource your services, Master Bruce,” Alfred sighed, “as you are only one man. However, this seems to be a different matter altogether, so I suppose there's no point in trying to convince you, is there?” Bruce gave a curt nod as he trotted down the stairs, the floodlights to the cave activating to shine down on the complex series of computers and vehicles he used for his secret hobbies. “Usually I would let them solve their own problems, Alfred, but this is Scarecrow and Mad Hatter we’re talking about. While Tetch's predictability is limited to the Lewis Carrol books, he's still a deranged schizophrenic and still a threat, and Crane is a sadist with enough fear gas to bomb an entire country. I need to go to Georgia and stop them before they can hurt any more people.” 

“Master Bruce, these two are not your responsibility,” Alfred reasoned, following at a steady pace as Bruce got onto the batcomputer to get the coordinates for the last known location of the masked men. “Maybe not,” he replied, “but I am responsible for helping to protect this city, and I let these Crane and Tetch slip under the radar. I didn’t even realize they were gone until literally three minutes ago, Alfred, and now another town is paying for this mistake,” he sighed, going over to begin putting on his infamous batsuit. Alfred didn’t reply, merely watching from afar as he occasionally checked the computer for updates. Wayne had just put on the chest plate and had begun to fit on his boots when he stopped, considering a thought. “They killed over twenty people, Alfred,” he murmured, clutching his mask in his left hand in simmering anger. “If there is a chance I can stop them before anyone else just to save a few more lives, I’m more than willing to go any distance.”  

Once his mask was on and he was fully suited up, he moved over to the computer, collecting any information that he would need. “I’m going to need to use the batmobile,” he told his butler, typing into the computer in order to see which roads he would need to use to get there the fastest. “I’ll have to go at full speed if I want to get there quickly. There’s no time to plan anything else.” 

“What do you expect to do once you get there?” Alfred questioned, watching him as he began to head towards the batmobile. “Find them. I’ll have to set up a few crime scenes and check for anything they’ve left behind, and once I get ahold of them, I'm bringing them back to Gotham,” Batman informed him. “I know them, Alfred. Crane isn’t one to just run away from his problems, and Tetch loves Gotham too much to move away.” 

“Not a common interest between Englishmen, I can assure you,” Alfred commented. 

“They came there for a reason, most likely of Crane’s own interest. From what the computer says, Tetch has no connection with Georgia, much less even stepped foot in it. Crane must be after something. Something important, I’m sure. I’ll make sure he won’t get it. Check the computer for any linking factors between Crane and the town. Make sure you hit all bases, including profession and personal life. Oh, and make sure Robin keeps the city safe while I’m gone.” 

“Understood, Master Bruce,” Alfred nodded as Bruce hopped into the armored vehicle. “Stay safe, sir. You’ve stopped several villains at once before, but there’s always a risk.” 

“I’ll be home before next week, I can assure you,” Batman said confidently, lowering the roof of the batmobile and revving up the engine. It was going to be a long couple of days, he was sure of that. Even as he drove off, he couldn’t help but wonder why these two criminals would travel such a far distance to wreak havoc. 

Little did he know, someone else was wondering the same thing, and they were determined to figure out this little enigma. 

The Mad Hatter and Scarecrow were more than overjoyed by the time they broke through the line of trees, their run slowing to a steady walk. Breathing heavy, Scarecrow was still laughing lightly to himself, still a bit animated after the day’s events. Bits of blood was still visible on his costume, but neither of them really seemed to care. Jonathan would care when he would have to wash the damn thing, but that's for another time.  

“Oh, I honestly wish I could have recorded all of that,” Scarecrow chuckled giddily, one hand on his scythe and the other on the duffle bag slung around his shoulder. The two were still in costume, of course, attempting to find a good point to where they were safe to change. “You’ve said that at least three times,” Mad Hatter grinned, looking up at him. “Oh they looked like they had just seen a boojum! You sure hunted them like one, the snark you are. I have to say, I’ve never seen the March Hare look so spirited about anything before. Much preferable to your usual mimsy attitude. 

“I enjoy a good adrenaline rush every now and again,” Scarecrow sighed, attempting to calm himself down by looking over the parking lot they had come across, sparsely populated by only a few cars. “It beats sitting in an office and listening to the problems of everyone else.” This got a noticeable glance from Hatter, but he said nothing about it, instead picking up on a linguistic contradiction. “Then that would be all the time. For if it is both now and then, then when do you have time without it?” Scarecrow looked down at him, his mask making any portrayal of emotion near impossible. “Oh hush with your riddles. Now, which one should we pick?” They surveyed the area. While it was still the black of night, street lights were able to illuminate the area and give them a clear picture of where they were heading. 

“Oh, I like the red one,” Hatter pointed out, gesturing to a small red car that would perfectly seat the two of them. “Quite reminds me of the queen!” It looked cheap and rather plain and unnoticeable, which was perfect for them. “The red one it is,” Scarecrow declared, beginning their trek through the lot. “So how many of those cards do you have left?” 

“Quite a few,” Hatter replied, not bothering to check his bag. “I always bring a chess set’s worth.” They stopped at the car, where he watched Scarecrow begin to break in, only to realize the door was already unlocked. “Odd,” he muttered, before he ducked under the steering wheel and began to fiddle with the wires. “So how much toxin would you say you have left?” 

“A few canisters,” the taller villain replied, grunting as the wires didn’t seem to be connecting. “So I’d say enough to break at least a hundred minds. In case that fails, I still have a scythe and an axe, whereas you don’t have a weapon of any kind.” 

“Well, I usually I have other more willing rabbits willing to rough up a few pawns; they usually have weapons,” Hatter huffed, watching him move the wires in the obviously wrong places. “Er, Hare, I don’t believe-“ 

“I know what I’m doing,” Scarecrow spat, before cursing when one of the wires gave him a little shock, although it wasn’t felt through the gloves. Hatter rolled his eyes, grabbed the other’s arm before he could protest, and ducked under the steering wheel. Within seconds, the car roared to life. When he came back up, he dusted his dinner gloves on his coat. “I suggest you leave the technology to me. Hares don’t climb trees and haberdashers don’t live in burrows. It’s just not practical,” he chuckled, rubbing tired eyes and going and getting into the driver’s seat. “Says the one in Wonderland,” Scarecrow scoffed, stopping him before he could climb in. Jervis looked at him with exhausted eyes filled with confusion, and not just from the rude interruption. Jonathan shook his head, and although the other pouted, he complied, getting into the passenger seat. Normally Jervis would be safe to drive, but not now. After being encouraged into an episode by Scarecrow, he was now in a more blurred state of mind than ever before. Letting Jervis drive the car after an episode was entrusting a psychotic with his very life, and so once again Jonathan was the one to drive. He sat behind the wheel, not backing out just yet as he took a moment to calm himself. He himself felt a bit too jumpy with his blood still rushing and he needed time to sit down and do some grounding, and driving was a fine way to get himself back into the proper state of mind. He just needed to concentrate on something else at the moment. With a sigh, he pulled off his hat and mask as they began to pull out of the parking lot, revealing unusually unkempt red hair and a man with a wide grin on his face, which slowly faded as he rolled down the window and took time to get some fresh air. Jervis sat in the passenger seat, rubbing at tired eyes as he struggled to assimilate back into reality. As they stopped they car at the opening to the parking lot, Crane looked over at the middle console as he took deep breaths in to stabilize himself. He opened it up, looking inside, and when nothing was there, he reached above and opened up the sun visor, watching a pair of car keys drop into in own lap. “Well that would have made things easier,” he noted, sticking the keys into the ignition. Tetch blinked, confusion displaying on his face. “Is… this a habit pawns- I… I mean rabbit- no… I mean…” He groaned, shaking his head as he covered his eyes with a pained muttering. Jonathan looked over at him, realizing Tetch was having difficulty discerning reality from fiction the fiction of his own mind. He  softly and hunched over at what was an undoubtedly his mind’s resistance to the voices and delusions it provided in itself. Jonathan gave his shoulder a small touch, attempting to drive him back into reality. “Americans?” he assumed. Tetch suddenly sat up, giving a quick clap of his hands. “Yes! Yes… ah, is this a habit Americans have?” he asked, gesturing to the keys and looking up at Crane as they stalled at the opening. “Some,” the good doctor replied, looking up and down the road to see if there was any cars coming, but it was deserted. He looked over to see Jervis with the same puzzled look. “It’s Georgia,” Jonathan replied simply, but it only seemed to amplify the confusion. “It’s rural Georgia,” Jonathan repeated with bot much of an elaboration, placing both hands on the steering wheel. “Does Georgia logic differ from Wonderland log- never mind. Mad question,” Hatter interrupted himself, letting out a trembling sigh as they were turning the car onto the road. Jonathan just shook his head, looking out into the brightly-lit road they started on. Their things slung in the back seat, he decided to take this time to do some breathing exercises to lower his excitement. His mind kept flashing back to the terrified screams of the policemen. That was what got his blood rushing and his nerves so high-strung. It was a vice of his he was never quite able to shake away, only amplified by his accidental inability to feel any fear. He turned onto a less-traveled path in order to properly lay low. He watched low-hanging trees frame the road perfectly, creating a clear cut through the woods. He grew aware of the the bumps in the road illuminated by bright high-beams and he soft glow of the waxing moon up above. He concentrated on the road before him and with that his nerves began to calm. The only bit that he regretted was that now he was fully aware of the pain in his shoulder, now feeling the feeling of blood dripping down his arm from the wound reopening. He grimaced at the pain, but with such a high pain tolerance from his younger years, he was quickly able to ignore it and keep driving. Jervis didn’t seem to be handling the pain in his own arm so well. While he didn’t move around as much as Scarecrow had, he had certainly caused himself a bit of pain by deciding to save the literal straw man when taking out his attacker with an axe. He had never actually seen the Hatter kill anyone with his own hands before, but was it quite the sight to see. He would need to sew up and re-bandage the wounds. 

“Ah, Wonderland seems to be more exciting than usual, doesn’t it?” Hatter sighed, adjusting his hat as he rested back against the seat. Jonathan knew he wasn’t going to take that thing off until he went to sleep, so he just let the Hatter have it, knowing it would only cause him migraines should he pursue it. “It sure does,” he sighed under his breath, now feeling more worn out.  “Let’s just find a place to stay for the night and get out before night hits tomorrow. I don’t want to spend another second here.” 

“Oh then you should be so terribly disappointed to know there are still…” Hatter paused to pull out his pocket watch, which was based off of the original Mad Hatter’s. He stared intently at the watch that not only told time in days, months, and years instead of by the second, but also was two days off. Still, somehow, he was able to interpret it, finishing with, “about thirty-six  thousand seconds let until darkness again. Oh how terrible that must be for you.” The look on Crane’s face as he glanced over was unreadable and just up for interpretation. “How about one of the neighborhood houses?” Jervis then suggested, looking at an intersection that led to a cluster of houses. “That’s risky,” Jonathan replied, shaking his head. “We don’t want to wake any neighbors. They’re probably already high strung as it is now that they know about us.” 

“Well you lived here, didn’t you?” Tetch said, looking over at him. “Where do you suggest we stay, then?” Jonathan had to think about this for a good few seconds, going through his terrible memories for any place they could stay that the police wouldn’t check out. 

“I know a place,” he then remembered, driving in another direction as soon as he recalled it. “There’s a small plaza that used to be filled with vacant shops. With any luck, a few of them may still be empty.” 

Jervis nodded, silently following the road with his eyes as he used his spare time to his advantage. He gently relaxed, attempting to bear through not only the gash in his arm, but the growing head pains brought on by recently escaping an episode. He listened to the voices and their chatter, attempting to bring him back into that fanciful headspace. Usually energetic during his episodes, the time afterwards usually left him in a state of exhaustion and pain, and not just from the usual bruising that was left around his body. Still, he didn’t regret a bit of it. Today was undoubtedly the third most eventful day of his life. He nearly died several times, so it was at least in the top five. Today was a good day, he’d say. 

The car was filled with silence, with Jonathan now quieted and recounting the day’s events with a small smile. Jervis couldn’t help but become curious about some words shared several minutes earlier. 

“Hey Hare,” he hummed to both catch the other’s attention and appease his aching mind. This left him only receiving a grunt in response as a sign that he had his attention. “Do you really prefer this life over the life you could have had?”  

Jonathan paused, looking over at him silently. Tetch took this as a sign to keep going. “It’s the question we all ask ourselves, isn’t it? If we could go back in time and stop ourselves from become this, would we?” He glanced over at the unamused Crane, who only let out a sigh after a minute and shook his head. “Tetch,” Jonathan sighed, “as much as I appreciate the conversation and attempts to keep away the silence, I really can’t bear any more questions for today. Save it for tomorrow.” Jervis let out a small titter of amusement, but nodded in understanding, going back to holding his head. If Jonathan was sick of questions and answers, it must have been a really long day for him. He just hummed a tune to himself as they kept driving. 

They soon came to the plaza his companion had mentioned, looking around the dimly lit area in search of anyone. Besides one lone car, there was really no one there. Sure enough, a few of the stores were empty, the signs torn down and the windows covered to show there was no longer any occupants.  

It only took a few seconds and the door was soon opened, all in thanks to Catwoman’s helpful lessons. They trudged in with their things, locked the door, and took a look around. Jonathan went into the other room to place his things whereas the Hatter was perfectly content with his clothes. Jervis noticed the wallpaper still clinging to the interior was a light green with the occasional flower print. There was also an area where things were clearly meant to be on display, with lights and nozzles for misting water hanging above each display. 

“I believe this place may have been for floristry, Hare. Oh, you know how I enjoy flowers, quite like the dear Tiger Lily,” Jervis mused, before his mood flickered to one of disgust. “Except daisies. Those are always irritating to listen to.” Jonathan emerged from another room, now without the overall top portion of his costume, exposing a thin frame. “It doesn’t matter what this place is for,”  he scoffed, setting a first aid kit down once again. “What matters is that this place is free of any chance of the police finding us. They can’t possibly search every building in one day. We should be safe here.” He removed the bandage on his shoulder, one that was soaked through with blood so fresh it had yet to coagulate. Tiny scars dotted his body at random as skin stretched tight around his body, especially around his ribs and forearms. The bullet itself tearing through skin stretched against taut muscle. The bullet had lodged itself into his shoulder, and unfortunately he was unable to dig it out; at least, not without a strong drink on hand. Unable to quite stitch it up, he had instead bandaged it the best he could in hopes blood loss wouldn’t come to get him. Jervis looked back at him with mild interest as he pulled out more bandages. His face lit up with a mixture of surprise and something unreadable. “Oh dear me,” he said softly, catching Jonathan’s attention. His shock at the wound was understandable; Jervis had been cleaning his own wound as Jonathan had been bandaging his. “A nasty wound, I know,” he muttered, already beginning to clean the wound and hissing as alcohol made contact with exposed tissue. Thankfully the painkillers he had taken earlier was doing a number on the pain, even if that number was minute. Jervis grimaced, looking away. “Not what I was referring to, but sure,” he murmured. Jonathan was quick to patch up his wound, before requesting that Jervis show his. It was only natural, seeing as blood had begun to seep through his coat at this point, but just barely. Even still, the Hatter looked resistant. “Oh dear oh dear… do I have to?” he murmured, seeing the needle as it was pulled from its place in the kit. “Unfortunately, yes,” Jonathan sighed. “I am not taking care of you when that wound gets infected. But I am perfectly willing to put all this away and let you die of infection.” He held the needle up, watching Tetch back up into the wall. Crane quickly realized his error; Jervis was in a much more fragile state than before, and he didn’t mean just physically. He let out a slow breath as he set the needle down and beckoned him forward. “Come now Hatter, it’s the Hare,” he said in a slow, soothing voice as he knew Jervis liked it. “I don’t want to hurt you, but your shoulder is quite damaged. Help me help you.” 

Those words seemed to bring some comfort to Jervis as he slowly nodded and decided to close the distance between them. He winced in pain as he removed both his coat and his much bloodier dress shirt. Crane grabbed the bottle of pain reliever from his kit, tapping a few pills into his hand. Hatter was immediate in his reaction, looking upon the medication in disdain as they quite reminded him of the antipsychotics he was forced to take in the asylum. “I’ll, er, go without the caterpillar’s mushroom, thank you,” he smiled apologetically, pushing Jonathan’s hand away despite the pain felt in his arm in doing so. “Hatter, it will help you,” Crane said smoothly, but his hand was pushed away. “Oh you sound just like them,” Hatter scoffed, his apprehensive expression turning to disgust in a second. “Tell you what; if you take them and it turns out I’ve been lying to you, it’ll be off with my head,” Jonathan compromised. That seemed to finally convince him. “Well… if the queen demands it,” the patient murmured, and so he hesitantly took the pills and downed them.  

While he waited for the pills to kick in, the doctor searched the empty store for anything useful for them. His shoulder ached and so he used it as infrequently as possible. Part of him wished he could stumble upon a couple bottles of booze; he needed a strong drink right about now. After about twenty minutes of fruitless searching, he returned to Jervis, who was muttering to himself as he rubbed his temples. He looked up at the professor, confusion evident on his face, before falling back to recognition. Jonathan sat behind him, inspecting the wound slowly while the Hatter stayed put. 

“Ugh, I did quite the number on you, didn’t I?” Jonathan murmured after seeing the gash with fresh eyes. To be frank he was surprised he didn’t end up slicing anything too important. “You tore some of the stitching, but it will take less time than before. I just need to clean the wound and redo some stitching. Now this initial bit may sting a little, alright?” Jervis grimaced to himself, but nodded as the other brought out the bottle of alcohol. Taking a rag and soaking it with the liquid, he began to slowly clean the wound. Hatter initially hissed in pain, quickly finding comfort in biting his own sleeve or gloved fingers. After making sire the wound was properly cleaned, he gave Hatter some time to recover while he threaded the needle. “What are they telling you?” he asked softly, deciding to keep Tetch’s focus on something other than the pain. “Oh dear oh dear, it’s all so jumbled,” he whined, covering his eyes, but Jonathan gave his arm a touch to remind him that he couldn’t move while working on the gash. “Many things, really,” he then sighed, biting his lip when he felt the needle go through. Thankfully the pills were beginning to do their job. “Takes of Alice and her adventures; my my I still need to find her! She must be terribly lost.” He frowned deeply, the talk distracting him from the pain. “She always was a stupid girl. And when I find her we can continue are tea party!” Despite his jovial tone, he let out a shaky breath, rubbing at his temples with his uninjured arm. “What else are they telling you?” Jonathan prodded. “What do the other voices say?” Jervis removed his hat, rubbing as sagging eyes with his sleeve. “That I… need to water my tiger lily when I get home,” he murmured. “The person or the flower?” Jonathan questioned, momentarily confused as he didn’t recall Jervis mentioning he owned a flower. “Ih of course the flower,” Hatter suddenly spat, his mood flickering to a sudden state of annoyance. “Do you really think I have Miss… er…” He frowned, his mood shifting back to calm and docile as his face scrunched in slight pain and concentration. “Isley?” Jonathan offered. “Ah, yes! Poison Ivy,” Jervis chirped, seeming to break through that barrier and into reality. Even still, he still had a bit of a way to go before he was able to properly come to his senses. Hopefully a bit of sleep would help clear that up. “She will go such an awfully long time without watering, the poor dear,” Jervis continued, his expression sagging once again as he thought of his flower. “How do you know it’s a girl?” Jonathan asked, nearly finished with his stitching. He was forced to stop, however, when he was given an over-the-shoulder death glare by Tetch. “Never mind,” Jonathan apologized, finishing up and bandaging the wound. “There. Not that painful, was it?”  

Jervis shook his head, rubbing his aching arm. “No, much more painful than before,” he replied, pulling back on his bloodied dress shirt and coat. “Although the talking helped. Still, thank you kindly…”  

“Don’t mention it,” he sighed as he packed up the supplied and stood, peering out the small cracks visible between the coverings of the windows. He could already see the red streaks of dawn starting to bleed its way towards the center of the black sky. “Just get some sleep. Hopefully a bit of rest will help repair that crumbling mind of yours.” He looked back at him. “How are you feeling?” 

Tetch gave a slow nod, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “Much better. My head feels clearer now, although my body aches.” He flashed a knowing smile to the doctor. “No sleeping pills, right?” he chuckled, watching as Crane turned to give him a small glare. “On the contrary; wake me up and your precious flower will go unwatered,” he threatened mildly, turning and going to get changed. The milliner just shrugged it off and soon found a good place to take a rest, before setting his hat to the side and nearly passing out then and there, not bothering to change out of his dirtied costume. Jonathan did the same as soon as he was dressed, sitting nearby as he finally began to relax for the first time today. Well, the first time that didn’t involve being drugged. That time didn’t count. He let out a soft yawn, noticing it was becoming even brighter outside. He just grumbled in annoyance, turning away from the windows and closing his eyes. 

Once they woke up, they would immediately head straight back to Gotham and nowhere else. He was already sick and tired of this town after just two days of being back. No one would stop them, and soon he would be back to terrorizing the people of Gotham. Those thoughts gave him some comfort as he began to rest up and drift off to sleep. 

However, he would have to stay up a bit more. Tearing through the thick silence, the phone rang. 

Jervis audibly groaned in vexation, covering his ears. Jonathan just sighed and ignored the ringing until it finally stopped. Whoever it was could wait a few hours.  

Of course, when the phone rang again, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without answering it. Even if he wasn’t called again, just not knowing who it was would be enough to keep him up a good hour or so. He angrily snatched up the phone, noticing Jervis sit up with an expression of both curiosity and slight annoyance. Jonathan recognized the caller ID as being from his base back in Gotham, really the only place he knew that had his number. It was Rockwell, most likely. Anyone else wouldn’t be a good sign. He let out an annoyed huff and answered the phone. 

“Yes?” he greeted, going into an impatient stance as he leaned against a counter. “Whatever it is, it must be pretty damn important, Rockwell.” He could hear his henchman clear his throat in a nervous fashion. Something else could also be heard in the background, but he couldn’t identify it. It almost sounded like a voice. 

“Well, Mister Scarecrow, sir,” Rockwell began, “I caught this guy sneaking around the base. Messing with all your chemicals and notes and stuff before I caught him. You know, the things you told me never to touch unless I want to end up in an Asylum?” 

Jonathan furrowed his brow in initial confusion, before quickly becoming angry once again. “An intruder? Messing with my things? Well tell me you at least killed the imbecile.” 

“Well, that’s the thing,” Rockwell replied slowly, his drawling of his words indicating he was in a bit of a tough situation. “This really isn’t any old thug. I was going to, but he told me to cal you specifically. Told me I would regret it if I killed him. Called me a bunch of things, too.”  

At this point, Crane was simply puzzled at the situation. “Who gives a damn who he is?” he scoffed. “What sort of brainless halfwit would even think to intrude upon my lair? If he was caught by you, he obviously can’t be of much importance. I won’t be shedding any tears, trust me on-“ 

That’s when he heard it. Whatever voice that was in the background soon became loud and clear. 

“HALF-WIT? I’ll have you know that I was able to find both your base and figure out the access code in a mere hour, not an easy task for a mere simpleton. If it’s anyone lacking the brains of the bunch, it’s you for only hiring a single guard to protect the supplies that are integral to your potato sack visaged alter-ego!” 

Jonathan had to pull the phone back in order to not damage his ear drums. He blinked in surprise, looking over at Jervis, who had heard the yelling man on the other end. Just the voice alone seemed to be pulling him back into the reality side of his mental state. Both recognized that voice clear as day, but both seemed unable to make sense of it. 

“Is that…?” Tetch murmured slowly. 

“It is…” Crane replied. 

They looked at each other and back down at the phone. They practically said it at the same time, equally as confused. 

“Nygma?” 

Chapter Text

“Oh my oh dear oh my… Dormouse... mate… what in the queen’s wretched name are you doing?” Jervis blurted, still confused over the whole situation and seeming extremely English at that moment. Jonathan, on the other hand, was silently fuming, clenching his hand in an effort to not go off like a firework in a match factory. “Nygma, I highly suggest you answer the man’s question,” he seethed, “lest you want an early grave.” 

To this, Jonathan only received a scoff, clearly heard to the other man as both ends were placed on speaker. “Oh please, you can’t threaten me two states away and think it can bear any fruit,” the Riddler laughed. “Riddle me this! What stands to scare crows aside, but is about as threatening as its hay on the inside?” This only served to make the Scarecrow rage internally more. “Rockwell,” he hissed, “if he doesn’t answer me in the next three seconds, take your gun, and blow his lungs out.” Jervis gave his friend a wide-eyed glance, even he thinking it was a bit harsh. Of course, if anyone had broken into his lair, how it would have gone is anyone’s guess.  

The sound of a shotgun cocking was heard over the speaker, to which Riddler responded immediately. 

“WHOA WHOA WHOA! Hold on for a second! I’ll answer, for god’s sake!” 

Hatter walked over, grabbing Jonathan’s arm gently in order to talk some sense into him, only for him to jerk away in slight annoyance. He seemed to wince in pain, though, remembering he had been shot. After all the adrenaline had worn off, the pain was now evident once again, though now dulled thanks to Jonathan’s suture skills. The ache didn’t stop him from giving the next orders, though. He was furious. 

“Three.” 

“Crane- stop!” 

Jervis was in panic mode, quickly approaching Jonathan. “Hare! Don’t you think you’re being a little rash-?” 

“Two.” 

Riddler was now freaking out on the other end, unable to formulate a sentence. “March Hare!” Tetch nearly screeched, attempting to grab the phone from him. Alas, he was unable to reach it and Jonathan merely shoved him away. 

“W-wait, I-“ 

Jervis took this moment to cover his ears. 

“One.” 

“I saw the news report about you guys in Georgia and had to know what you were scheming and wanted to look at your notes while I had the chance! For the love of everything, there! Is that good enough for you, you absolute sadist?” 

Jonathan smirked, an expression of satisfaction appearing on his face as he nudged Jervis to stop hiding his ears. “Alright, I believe that will suffice.” 

Jervis took a moment to recover from that near heart attack, giving Jonathan a hard glare before moving on to interrogate Nygma, much to Jonathan’s evident annoyance. 

“You’ve heard tales of our adventure to the Hare’s little rabbit hole?” Jervis asked, speaking up so Edward could hear him. “Of course!” the Riddler responded. “Who hasn’t? It’s all over the news! You two have apparently ditched Gotham to go terrorize that dusty pit of a town you’re in. My question is, why are you there?” 

Jervis was more than happy to answer. “Well we-“ 

Jonathan shot a stony glare at his partner, shutting him up quickly. “It’s my lair so I’ll do the talking,” he snapped, looking down at the phone. Jervis’ brow raised in surprise, taken aback by the sudden shift in attitude towards him. What happened to that soft-voiced doctor? His expression slowly soured to one of disdain as Jonathan continued to talk to the Dormouse. “Tell you what, Nygma. How about you stay right there? Keep tight,” he told him. “Try to escape and my underling with splatter you across the wall. If you’re still alive by the time we get back, then we’ll talk.” 

“Wait, what? Crane, you can’t possibly-“ 

He listened no more, ending the call right there and tossing his phone onto the counter. “Alright, time for some rest. If it’s true about everyone knowing about us, Batman is no doubt on our trail.” He sat down beside the wall, peering up at Jervis, who stared at him with a look of irate shock. “What?” 

Tetch noticed he was staring and looked away for a second, rubbing the back of his neck, his mood swinging back to docile. “Hare…” he murmured, to which his friend raised an eyebrow in rising impatience. “Yes?” he sighed, a hand coming up to gently touch the wound on his shoulder and twitching in pain. Jervis, however, was able to ignore his own pain, the near death of his other friend nearly scaring him half to death. 

“You weren’t actually going to go off with his head, were you?” he asked cautiously, lowering his hand. Jonathan opened his mouth to give what he assumed would be a straight-faced denial as usual, but instead he just shut his mouth and gave him a knowing smile. “If the queen demands it,” he recited, and in such a mockingly disgusting way, the Hatter noted. Jervis found himself a little uneasy. While Nygma may have not been the most pleasant person in the world (a given seeing their line of work), Hatter still considered the Dormouse to be a friend, even if the latter denied it continuously. They’d worked together multiple times, and at this point he had believed Jonathan was comfortable with him as well. It made him strangely angry on the inside. He speaks softly to him like the Mock Turtle before deciding to Queen of Hearts a man he had worked with time and again; their cells were right next to each other’s in the asylum. It made everything the Hatter had heard before become called into question. The Hare wasn’t supposed to kill the Dormouse. That’s not how it goes, and the fact that he nearly heard one murder the other over a phone call made a twinge of darkness burn inside him. Not as strong as his episode at the warehouse, but still there. “Hare…” 

“Oh what do you want me to say?” Jonathan scoffed, folding his arms on his tucked-in knees. “He would have done the same to me. No- worse. He would have me navigate my way through one of his blasted puzzles, and if I died? Well, I doubt he would shed any tears.” 

“He could barely construct a sentence,” Jervis argued in defense of his friend. “Yes, that would be the fear,” Crane chuckled, rubbing his eye with the ball of his wrist as he turned to walk away. “Put a threat and a time limit and they practically fall apart trying to scramble for an answer. It’s one of the easiest methods in the book.” Jervis felt his anger rise further. “You knew that would happen?” he hissed, moving to stand in front of him. “And should it have been that he hadn’t answered in time?” Jonathan didn’t seem phased by the question, noticing his partner’s building rage. “Don’t get yourself so worked up over him,” he huffed. “We already fought once and it took only a miracle for us to come to good terms. Let’s not have a repeat of last time, shall we?” 

Jervis was silent, a mix of foul emotions stewing inside him. “Jonathan...” 

“Ah, back to the real world, I see? It’s about time. Good to have you back,” Crane sneered, not bothering to stand up. He clearly did this just to exert some sort of power over the other. This only served to build Jervis’ anger, much to the doctor’s liking. Jonathan knew he shouldn’t be pushing so hard, but there was something about seeing people react so emotionally that filled him with a sick joy. “Edward isn’t any friend of yours and you know it. He only looks out for himself, a tip you should actually take up if you find yourself so affected by this event.” 

Voices spoke in his head provocatively, urging him to take off his head in the name of the queen herself. Jervis was more than tempted to comply, break the leg of a table, and bash Jonathan’s head in repeatedly, but he knew doing so would only be a losing battle for himself. Both were worn out and Jonathan was not weak, despite his rail-thin frame. He knew he would regret it, both physically and emotionally. As angry as he was right now, after the night’s events, he didn’t think he would actually be able to bring himself to do it. Sure, maybe he got too attached to anything that even resembled a friend or a character of his beloved book. He couldn’t exactly help it; he wasn’t able to shut everyone out like Jonathan did. 

That’s when it hit him. An idea that hadn’t come to him before now. His mind now clear, the solution just seemed to click into place, quite like the answer to a riddle. How could he forget? 

Jonathan was taken aback when the other’s demeanor suddenly became calm. He blinked in surprise, tensing up slightly in case Jervis decided to suddenly go berserk on him. With the man’s unpredictable swings in both mood and actions, it was always difficult to tell. However, the Hatter did no such thing. Instead, the man grabbed his phone and hat off the floor and entered the backroom, already beginning to look up something on the small screen. “I understand. Have a frabjous morning, Jonathan. I’ll see you at six o’clock!”  

Once the door shut, it was Jonathan who was at a loss, for once unsure what that sudden shift was supposed to mean. He had to take a moment to consider Jervis’ action and had to admit he was a bit thrown off.  

Jonathan decided that morning to sleep in another room as well, this time with the door locked. As much as he’d like to stay up, he didn’t think it was possible for him. Both in pain and mentally drained, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep himself up for the drive back. 

As the sun appeared over the horizon, both criminals finally got some sleep. Jervis, however, stayed up a good half-hour before he fell asleep as well. 

“Ow ow! Not so tight, you layman!” Riddler hissed, clenching his teeth when the henchmen tugged at the rope. The burly man finished up tying up the green-clad man and stepped back. “There. You shouldn’t be able to escape.” 

Riddler sat on the chair, strapped to it with layers of thick rope, scowling under his breath. “Oh joys…” he muttered, wiggling in his binds, causing the henchman to point the shotgun at his chest. “Whoa whoa! I was just getting comfortable, you fool!” he spat, his heart jumping at the sight. 

“Oh, sorry,” Rockwell murmured with a half apologetic smile, dropping the barrel of the gun. Riddler let out a shaky sigh, cursing himself for even coming in the first place. Still, he straightened himself up and attempted to make better impressions. 

“So, Rockwell is it?” he questioned, attempting to calm his own nerves with conversation. “I’m sure the other thugs call you ‘Rocky?’” he then asked, looking him over. An odd name, seeing as the man was most likely Hispanic. Probably just a nickname. All thugs had nicknames; at least the average ones did. Rocky gave a small nod, going over and grabbing a chair and directly across from him. “Yeah, business and all that. Scarecrow tends to keep it formal, though.” 

Nygma cleared his throat, attempting to keep his glasses from slipping off. “So, I don’t suppose I’d be able to pay you off? Or convince you to change alliances, would I?” he offered, a glimmer of hope within him. “Nnnope,” Rocky shook his head. “This isn’t my first time working for one of you guys, my friend. You’re just gonna kill me once I let you go. And on the off chance that’s not the case, Scarecrow’s gonna murder me. That’s how it is.” 

“Well. It seems you’re not as dull as I thought,” Nygma muttered under his breath. “Ugh, I hate the average ones. Well you’re not just gonna sit here with a shotgun pointed at me this entire time, are you?” 

“I’m sure gonna try,” Rocky shrugged, much to Riddler’s distaste. He sighed, wiggling a little in the tight ropes. His cane might help it it wasn’t haphazardly thrown into Scarecrow’s closet when he was first captured. He looked around, attempting to busy himself by looking around, but boredom was beginning to gnaw at him even after a few minutes of sitting there. Usually he was able to keep himself busy by thinking or doing a few tasks, but the latter wasn’t exactly possible, and he’d rather not think of his own situation. He had already figured that escape was impossible without some miracle making the ropes pop off. He looked at his captor with light consideration. “You wouldn’t know how to play chess, would you?” 

The henchman thought about it for a few seconds, soon nodding. “Yeah, I’m familiar.” 

“Alfred?” 

“Ah, good morning Master Bruce. Sleep well?” 

Batman merely grimaced, not once easing off the gas as he blasted full speed down the empty highway. As the sun was now shining low in the sky, he was able to tell just where he was going without the fear of throwing himself off the road or potentially hitting a traveler. “You’re very funny, Alfred,” he replied, already feeling the weight of a sleepless night begin to bear down on him. He wasn’t one for caffeine, but he nearly craved any sort of stimulant to keep him going during the longer nights. “I’ve taken a quick look at the crime scene set up at the gas station named in the police reports. He was shot with a 40 caliber, Scarecrow’s preferred ammo. Ballistic tests match as well. He and Tetch definitely passed by here.” 

“Was there any doubt?” Alfred asked. “None,” Batman replied. “Now, what did you find?” 

“A few things of interest,” his butler informed him. “The only links are to Scarecrow, and I’m afraid it’s all things we already know. Former abusers are all dead and there’s no one of noticeable importance in the town, it seems. I don’t see a reason why he would need to return. Most of his work was done in Gotham, after all.” 

“I see… what about family?” Batman questioned. Alfred paused, reading the information, before quickly responding. “All the same. His half-sister is still in the protection program over a hundred miles from anywhere near the area. That’s all except...” There was another pause. “Well…” 

Batman paused in what he was doing, frowning as he knew that pause meant more than silence. He had something on Crane. “Well what is it? I need anything even remotely related to Scarecrow,” Batman pressed, finding this priority number one while he had the time to spare as he drove. “Well, it’s about his mother.” 

“Sounds like a lead. Keep talking,” Batman nodded, feeling as though he was onto something. 

Jonathan woke up with a start as he heard pounding on the door. “Rise and shine, Jonathan!” came Jervis’ voice, muffled by the wooden door separating them. “It’s about Time I’m up before you are. I never thought He’d give me the opportunity.” 

Jonathan sat up, his red hair once again disheveled and his eyes heavily-lidded due to sleep still tugging at his sleeve. He yawned got up, stretching a bit. He strolled over to the door and opened it, a bit surprised to see Jervis wide awake. Although he wasn’t in his full Hatter costume, he still had his signature hat placed atop his head and a the same jovial demeanor he always had. Despite the reference to Time, he actually seemed to be in a better state of mind than the night before. He took a quick look out the window to see the sun angled in the sky. Jonathan furrowed his brow, looking down at Jervis cautiously. “How long was I out?” he sighed, immediately grabbing his things and slinging the bag over his shoulder. Jervis happily dug his pocket watch out of his coat and handed it over to Jonathan. A bit annoyed by it, the doctor did his own digging to retrieve his reading glasses, perching up the glasses on his nose to get a good glimpse at the time on the watch. It was currently June seventh, 2018.  

Jonathan gave a grunt of annoyance, shoving the watch back over to him as he pushed towards the exit. “Your watch is two days off,” he muttered as he exited the building, Jervis following after him with a surprised look. “It is?” he murmured, looking up at Jonathan. “I told you butter wouldn’t suit the works!” Crane just shoved his things into the trunk, waiting for Jervis to do the same. He had just woken up, his arm ached, and he just wanted to get back to Gotham. He didn’t feel like playing along with Jervis’ delusions right now, even if he was willing the night before. The voices in his head would play along if he was so desperate. Tetch didn’t seem to mind, going over to the driver’s side, much to Jonathan’s confusion. 

“What are you doing?” he sighed, shutting the trunk and crossing his arms. Tetch looked over with faint surprise. “Oh, I’m driving! You’re far too worn out after yesterday’s events, and I wouldn’t have you to drive all the way back again, oh no. It’s quite the trip, after all.” 

Jonathan stared at him for a few seconds, before looking at the car, and then back at him. “Why do I feel like this is a trap?” he inquired. Jervis merely shrugged. “Perhaps it’s because you’re an extreme introvert diagnosed with anti-social personality disorder with severe trust issues and the inability to relate to other people?” he suggested. 

Crane took this moment to close his eyes, taking all that in with slight surprise. “Well now… you sounded eerily like a psychiatrist for a second there,” he stated. “Point taken. You may drive.” He promptly got into the passenger seat as the other positioned himself behind the wheel, taking off his glasses and storing them on the dashboard. He gave the smaller man a stern, cold look. “But if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to chop your head off.” Jervis wasn’t affected by the words, nor the glare, and just chuckled as he started the car. “Oh, I know you won’t.” 

Once they were on the road, Jervis went straight for the kill. “So, fancy a chess game?” he suggested, causing Jonathan to sigh in brief annoyance. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to return to Gotham and cut off communications with everyone for a solid month. Still, it was going to be a long drive, and he did enjoy the challenge of playing the Hatter. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll be red.” 

“Good good!” Jervis chirped. “Pawn E2 to E4.” 

“Knight G8 to F6.” 

“Pawn G7 to G5.” 

As the two drove on, they continued to play their imaginary game. Jonathan rubbed his injured shoulder unconsciously, watching the window as they moved along. A good twenty minutes in and Jonathan had won the game with ease. Another fifteen minutes of the same game and he had won again. It was almost too easy. 

Any worries had pretty much dissipated by now, although he was still consciously aware of Jervis’ movements. A career as a criminal and too much forced exposure to his own fear gas had taught him to never let his guard down, and damn it if he was going to be duped again by the Mad Hatter of all people. He had already planned out in his head how he was going to get Jervis to keep quiet about the whole thing. 

Halfway through their third game, Jonathan noticed when Jervis took a wrong turn. He didn’t cross onto the route they were meant to in order to get onto the highway. He blinked in surprise, nudging the driver instead of continuing their game. “Jervis, you made a wrong turn.” 

“Oh, did I? I apologize,” the Hatter replied sheepishly. “An honest mistake on my part, I confess.”  

Jonathan quirked a brow. He sat back with his arms crossed, staring forward at the road. He expected a U-turn to take place, but it just wasn’t so. Jervis kept driving, causing immediate alarm within the doctor.  

“I should have known better,” he growled, turning to look at Jervis. “Pull over. Now.”  

Tetch’s eyes were wide with brief panic. “Jonathan, I-“ 

“Pull over!” he demanded, reaching a hand over to pull the car over himself, but was quickly smacked away by Jervis. “Jonathan, please, trust me on this!” he pleaded, catching his partner off guard. Anger and a feeling of betrayal simmered within Jonathan, but Jervis held up a hand to try and calm him.  

“Listen, I know how this may seem, but please, just have faith in me,” he coaxed. 

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you,” Jonathan spat. Hatter looked to the side awkwardly, piecing the factors together in his head. “So… you trust me very much so?” 

“Oh you give me far too much credit,” Crane scoffed, once again making a go for the wheel, but the driver made a valiant effort on pushing him away. 

“Well I know you trust me on some level!” Hatter pointed out, attempting to convince him. In some ways, it worked, as it caught the doctor’s attention. “Excuse me?” Jonathan scoffed, looking almost malicious at this point. Jervis brought a hand up to give time to explain himself, keeping his hand on the wheel. “Look, it’s taken me longer than it honestly should have, but I’ve come to realize that I am one of the few people you put some level of faith in,” he explained. “Even if you deny it, you wouldn’t have brought me along if it wasn’t for a particular reason, and I think I’ve finally figured out this riddle.” 

“Tetch, what are you talking about?” Jonathan spat, clearly bubbling with underlying rage at being deceived. At least he knew how Jervis had felt. “Listen, I was thinking of giving you a card and forcing this on you, but I’ve also realized that it would cause you to never speak to me again and possibly even kill me,” Jervis confessed, belting out words easily as if he wasn’t talking about his own potential death. “So if that’s of any comfort, I offer you that. However, all I require is that you simply trust me on this matter. Then, we can go back to Wonderland, and you can do as you wish. You never have to speak to me again.” 

Jonathan stared dead at Tetch, silently seething in his seat. However, much to Jervis’ relief, he sat back in his carseat, his expression falling back to blank and stoic. Although he was sure he was in for potentially being lynched, Jervis was thankful he at least got this. He didn’t let the hard, expressionless visage fool him; the controller-turned-passenger was seething. He had known Jonathan beyond their criminal years; Crane was an expert at hiding his true emotions behind friendly smile. 

Jonathan didn’t stop staring at him the entire drive. The town soon morphed into a more rural area. Houses became more sparse as they drove along. For some reason, it was oddly familiar to the Scarecrow. Of course, it didn’t take long for him to realize just where they were. He stared, wide-eyed as they slowly came to a stop in front of a decrepit, boarded up with planks of wood rotten with age. Grayed walls, peeling paint, broken down bits of everything thrown here and there. But Jonathan looked at none of those. Instead, his eyes were focused on a large, abandoned chapel in the distance, now having gone silent. 

Jervis shut off the car, sitting there and waiting for the other to say something. He silently feared this may actually be the end of him right here; that he may have pushed the limits a bit too much at this point.  

Jonathan stared for a full five minutes, both men silent the entire time. Then, without another word, he slowly turned his head to watch Jervis. This wasn’t like the usual cold and empty glares that he usually received from the other man. This one could be called soulless just from the way the smaller villain felt like he was about to be strangled right then and there. Tetch found himself unable to look up at him, a deep fear gripping his heart. Still, he came here for a reason. Sucking in a breath of courage, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a piece of crumpled white paper, straightening it out and beginning to real aloud. 

Chapter Text

“Dear Jonathan Crane, 

We hope this letter finds you well.  

It has come to our attention that you had gone uninformed due to your status at Arkham Asylum. Because of this, we were unable to get this letter to you on time.  

We regret to inform you of the death of your mother, Karen Keeny. She died in her sleep after being diagnosed with a lethal respiratory infection. Our sympathies go out to you.  

We feel for you on this tragedy, and we pray for your speedy recovery at Arkham and your good health.  

We wish you well and hope you're able to visit some day when you're released. Stay strong and remember the good memories.  

With our condolences,  

The Georgia State Funeral Home.”  

Jervis paused for a moment, folding the letter back in half. “Signed… three months ago.” He didn’t bother to look up at Jonathan, already knowing the man was shaking with barely contained rage. He was on thin ice and he knew it, but at this point, he didn’t care. 

“I did a bit of research,” he spoke gently. “It was not difficult to find this place, I assure you. Everyone under the sun knows about you here, after all. I found out your great-grandmother was buried here, since it’s her private property, after all.” He took in a breath, choosing his words carefully. “All it said was that she was buried back in her hometown of Arlen, here. And, well, after a bit of thinking…” 

“What are you trying to achieve here?” Jonathan interrupted, snatching the letter away and crushing it in his hand. He gave Jervis an accusing look. “Is some form of payback to you?” he sneered, his hand clenched around the now ruined piece of paper. “Did Nygma put you up to this somehow? I wouldn’t put it past him.” 

“No one brought you here but yourself,” Jervis denied. The reaction was immediate; Jonathan was tight-lipped as he held himself back from strangling him right then and there. Despite being in the wrong end of those hateful feelings, the Hatter could understand. A man who liked to control most of the conversations he had, even with psychiatrists, being talked down to was something that easily struck Jonathan in his core and pushed all the wrong buttons. Still, Tetch continued with a deep breath.  

“I believe we both know by now that your venture for the formula was balderdash from the start,” he went on. “You came here for a reason, Jonathan. I know this may not be news to you, but you have problems. Many problems that cannot be fixed with simple drugs or a few years of counseling, I should know, and I’m sure you know that by now, too, given your previous profession.” He dropped his eyes for second, trying to clear his thoughts as he attempted to be as delicate as possible. “I am just as sure you know that you wouldn’t have been able to do this yourself.” 

“Nonsense! I was able to kill my own mother. Or, well, I would have, had I not been interrupted,” Jonathan spat, angry at himself for losing control of his own emotions. 

“That was killing,” Jervis persisted. “You’re good at killing your problems away, not confronting them. You were never here to kill anyone, you were here to confront what was left behind, but you’re not very skilled in that matter. Suppose someone tries to get close or even help you, you push them away. Now now, given our line of work, that’s not completely out of the norm, but Jonathan, you almost killed Edward this morning. For a moment there, I could have mistaken you for the Joker. You are  angry. You are hurting. You are unhappy because you’ve been bearing this load for all of your life, and should you never confront this problem, you will never be happy again. You may think you’re an impenetrable fortress of steel that no vorpal blade can cut, but I know you, Jonathan. You are the Master of Fear, yes, but sometimes you forget that you are still human. Every single one of us has accepted what has happened to us, but for some reason, you’re unable to let go, and the fact we’re here proves that right now. That is why I am here. That’s why you mentioned the trip in the first place, because you knew I would follow along so you wouldn’t have to do all of this yourself. Now, if you want to leave this place right now, return to Gotham, and never speak of this event again, I am more than willing to do so. You just have to say so.” 

Jonathan didn’t even hesitate. “Drive,” he ordered, sitting back in his chair and looking straight ahead. 

Jervis blinked in surprise, having not expected that response, although he really should have. Blunt and straightforward, Jonathan didn’t ever hesitate. Although he had been hoping to make some sort of progress here, and even felt a little bit of pain in this moment, he was a man of his word. He frowned, looked down, and began fiddling with the wires underneath the steering wheel. Jonathan remained silent, being sure not to look out the window and towards the chapel looming not far off in the distance. 

Before long, the car was started, and Jervis took a small breath as he took one last look at Jonathan. Crane gave no reaction, merely staring straight ahead with his arms crossed expectantly. 

Jervis grimaced, sighed, and began to drive. 

“Stop.” 

The car had only moved a dozen feet before it came to a halt once again on Jonathan’s orders. The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he seemed to be having an internal conflict. “I’m genuinely angry I let you talk to me like I’m some sort of patient to you,” he muttered, before letting out a strained sigh. He looked up and back at Jervis. “However… you’re right,” he conceded. “I need to get this off of my chest… just this once. Then I can leave it behind me forever.” The smaller man gave him a small smile, giving him a small touch on the arm to let him know he would be there with him. Jonathan shrugged him off, turning away from him as he exited the car. With that, they stepped out of the car, looking up towards the dark building further ahead. 

Jonathan was clearly hesitant, but Jervis walked up in front of him, giving him a supportive nod. He took in a deep breath, steeled himself, and began to walk, heading up the path and towards the gray, aged chapel. Jervis watched him pass by, smiling to himself as he followed after him. 

Jonathan had misjudged how much they had slept, seeing as how he was never actually given the time. Once they had their heads shadowed by the thin layer of foliage above them, a bit of orange could be seen staining the few clouds in the sky. Both men didn’t seem to be too bothered, however, concentrated on the stone-bricked church that sat between two small grass-covered mounds. Jervis noticed a large stone cross just jutting out of the over-grown grass, tilting over to one side. It almost looked like one of those tombstones you would put on someone’s grave, what with the circle capturing the intersection of the cross. He would have thought it was a grave if it wasn’t so astoundingly large. Turning his attention back to the chapel, he found himself noting its rundown appearance, only adding to it’s haunting characteristics. Relatively small in size for any church he’d ever seen, but then again, one who wasn’t the religious type doesn’t really pay attention to the sizes of churches without reason. Vines had already infiltrated the gray stone and lined the walls, causing thin cracks to ebb the building. He traced them with his eyes, noticing they led up to stone-framed windows barred off with wrought iron, which were halved with spade tips. What really caught his attention, however, was now there was a nest perched upon the iron bars, just barely enough room for it and the crow to sit under the protection of the window’s frame. Speaking of crows, he only now noticed that there were more than just the one. Taking a look around, he gulped when he saw the near dozen black birds watching them from the trees and rooftop, perched in their nests and staring down at the two of them with glassy black eyes. Jervis had to admit they made him feel rather uneasy, despite them being a flock of measly birds. Jonathan seemed to take notice, looking up at the near dozens of corvids that stared back at him. A few squawked angrily at him; or at least that’s what Jervis thought. Within seconds he came to realize that the angry calls were directed at himself, and to that Jervis’ nerves began to melt under the heated gazes. Jonathan didn’t seem to notice the hostility toward the Englishman, however, and instead turned away from the crows and kept focus as he approached the giant double doors. The wooden entrance was covered in spray paint, from what had to be reckless teens on a dare, showing gang tags or just to say the occasional rude comment or even a little marking as a tribute to the Master of Fear himself. Seeing as that the entire place wasn’t covered with the tags let them know this place wasn’t traveled to very often. 

Jonathan noticed a broken chain and lock fallen to the floor near the doorway. Obviously an attempt to ward people off had been taken, but it seemed ineffective. He paused, looking down at it, finding it strange that others had been here at all. He himself wanted nothing to do with this decrepit building. Still, he paid it no mind as he moved forward, pushing open the doors with a loud creak of the rusted hinges, leading to a few startled crows. 

Speaking of which. 

Jervis was startled to see even more crows populating the area, at least a good five or so nested in the pews of the chapel. “It appears you have a bit of a bird infestation,” he murmured, noticing how they seemed to watch him and Jonathan as they moved. It wasn’t a joke, but an observation. The lankier man didn’t reply, instead going and standing where the rows of pews ended, in the center of the church and where the podium would usually be placed. Faint rays of light peered through what little space there was in the windows and decayed roof, the light seeming to center around the sole spot Jonathan stood. 

Jonathan stopped there, looking up at the ceiling; age had not been kind to it. Mortar had worn away and bits of the foundation had begun to crumbled after all these years. A crow flew in from one of the open spaces, landing close to Jonathan’s feet and taking a moment to clean its feathers. He looked down at the small, considering it for a moment. He shifted his shoe towards closer towards it, watching the avian hop back an inch or so, but otherwise not move at all. 

“These crows used to hurt me, did you know?” Jervis perked up when Jonathan’s voice broke the silence. He tilted his head slightly, not understanding. “Pardon?” he asked for clarification. 

Jonathan watched the crow in momentary silence, before turning his back to Jervis and looking up at the large wooden cross perched up on the wall and overlooking the entire church. “She would lock me in here in a dingy suit covered in putrid chemicals, and she’d sing. The crows would attack me. They’d peck and they’d claw and they’d hurt me, and she would just sing her church hymns as I screamed for mercy.” He paused, letting out a shaky exhale. The crow looked up at him, taking a moment to hop a little closer and tilt and swivel its head as if to look closer at the doctor. “Her favorite had always been ‘Amazing Grace’.” If Jervis hadn’t known any better, he would have said that the birds actually recognized him, but he quickly dismissed that idea. They were simply crows, and any left from his childhood were surely long dead by now. 

Another crow landed beside the first, ruffling its feathers. Jonathan didn’t seem to notice, still staring up at the cross. “As I grew older, I began to understand. I understood why she hurt me. I understood why the crows attacked me relentlessly. I understood why the other kids began to pick on me. However…. The singing. I couldn’t get the singing. Was she trying to drown out my screaming? Was this some bizarre plead for forgiveness?” His hands clenched. Jervis back away to give the man more room, but yelped in surprise when he nearly backed into another corvid, which fluttered up to one of the pews to call irately at him. The other crows seemed to join in, one call turning into two, then three, but Jonathan never noticed. “I still can’t understand, and I think about it more than I’d like to admit. It… it…” The words were on his lips, but he couldn’t seem to force them out. He folded his arms, taking in deep inhales as his hands clenched at his arm. “It changed me. These birds, they pecked and they clawed, but they weren’t what hurt me. She hurt me. Changed me. Now, she’s gone and all that’s left of here are these crows.” 

“They’re not scared of you,” Jervis noted softly, tipping his hat up slightly to get a better look at the scene. He looked back at the corvids among the pews; just the eye contact along seemed to make them more hostile as they seemed to have taken an immediate dislike to the one that invaded their home. “And nor I of them,” Jonathan hummed softly, looking back down at the birds. “But… I still let her affect me to this day. As I grew older, I grew angrier. I couldn’t take it out on anything, and when you just begin to bottle all those emotions up, it just… breaks you.” He looked back at Jervis, his expression unreadable as he seemed to try to continue to hold that stoicism. “I stopped being able to relate to others. I couldn’t understand why the other kids were happy, nor why they still found it necessary to torment me. I stopped being able to feel sorry about myself or content anymore; I began pushing away everyone else. I wasn’t able to trust anyone anymore. I started wanting to hurt people, and I didn’t know why.” For the first time, a smile came to his face as he let out a humorless chuckle, seemingly as a way to relieve his own tension. “I didn’t want to kill people, oh no, I wanted to hurt them. Beat them. Make them fear me. I thought that these feelings would die once I disposed of her, but they never went away. That event, along with killing all of my tormenters, was the only joy I had felt in… in years.” The smile turned into a grin and he stopped the tight grip on his arms, looking straight ahead. “I began to put all the blame on my mother. I thought that if I killed all of the people I held responsible for my misery, I would finally be happy.” 

Jervis decided to stay silent, letting Jonathan speak. This was the first time he had heard about any of this. He feared interrupting it would wreck Jonathan’s concentration, though that hardly seemed to be an issue with the dozens of crows that now seemed to be ganging up on the intruder. A few flew close, as if debating whether or not he was even worth the effort. 

“Of course… I never got the chance,” he continued. “Even if I did… I’m sure it wouldn’t have changed anything. I never made plans to do so afterwards… I just tried to push her out of my mind.” 

Jonathan lowered his head. The fading sunlight had shifted to a soft red, becoming dimmer as he stood there in the center of the ruined church. He let out an exhale, one that Jervis noticed a tremor in. For the first time that evening, he seemed to finally notice the crows that almost seemed to threaten Jervis. Jonathan stared at them, before moving closer to him. As he did so, the corvids seemed to calm almost immediately. “Even after everything, and all the hurt they brung me and pain they wrought upon me…” he murmured softly, placing a hand on one of the pews. Jervis yelped and ducked when a crow flew dangerously close, perching on the pew beside them with little regard of the Hatter’s presence or the Scarecrow’s hand right beside it. “… I can’t bring myself to hate them.” He brung his hand up to the crow, which gave his hand a startled look and fluttered its wings anxiously. “I spent a long time with them… even after what they did to me. I can’t hate them.” While the rather large crow seemed a bit hesitant, he let the human gently pet the feathers on the top of his head. “They were motivated by fear. Fear and hatred for what they don’t understand.” Crane gave a wry smile at the avian, his hand leaving the bird with a tremor. With that, the bird took off and back into the pews to once again become indistinguishable from the others. The witness chalked it up to that crow being particularly bold. “They’re just a bunch of birds,” Jonathan laughed shakily; Jervis couldn’t tell whether or not that was directed at him. With a turn of his head, Crane walked out of the church, not even taking a glance at the other man, who was left to watch him. Tetch looked back at the crows as Jonathan exited the building. They no longer seemed to pay him any mind, taking interest instead in the bits of vegetation that sprouted from cracks in the hardwood ground. By the time he looked back, Jonathan was gone, most likely going back to the car. While it was much less eventful than he had hoped for, it was something. It was odd, seeing confession spill from a man who had wrung many from him alone. With curiosity, he slowly strolled over to the crows, approaching them with the same slow walk the lankier man had treated them with only a few minutes ago. Sure enough, as soon as he got close, they scattered with a caw and a few beats of their wings. Jervis blinked in surprise, watching them fly out of the open stone windows. He frowned, looking back at the other crows in the pews. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he murmured, walking outside to catch up with his friend. 

When he exited the double doors, he noticed Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. That was odd, seeing as if he was heading back to the car at a walking speed, he would still be in view; he honestly doubted Jonathan would sprint back to the car, but he wouldn’t past him. Still, he became curious, as one would, and decided to see if Jonathan had traveled anywhere else around the church. 

Sure enough, Jervis only needed to walk several feet over to the side of the chapel to notice the thin man standing a good hundred feet away. He was in front of the giant stone cross he had noticed upon entering the shrouded environment. He stood with his back to the Hatter in silence, as if considering something.  

Jervis approached him from behind, keeping his distance when he noticed just what he was looking down at. 

Two grave plots were placed before the cross, several feet from each other. One was clearly aged, the small tombstone that used to mark it having been decimated by graffiti and what mist have been a sledgehammer. Almost nothing was really legible, except maybe the last few letters of her surname. However, the one next to it was almost untouched. The lack of grass showed the area had been recently disturbed, and the gravestone itself was completely blank, save for the words “Servant of God” engraved on the top. Jervis didn’t need to guess to know who these two belonged to, as well as which one was which. 

"There she is. She's dead. All these years and she's really dead. I almost can't believe it," he heard him murmur, a hand on his chest and the other arm folded under and supporting the elbow. Jervis walked up, standing beside him and giving him a quick glance. Jonathan only stared emptily forward, silent; however, there seemed to almost be a glimmer in his eye. 

“She felt guilty, did you know that?” Jonathan whispered. Jervis turned his attention away from the graves and to his friend, staying quiet and keeping his thoughts to himself. He would have responded had he not heard the slight quake in his voice. “She… actually felt guilty,” he continued. “But… not for abandoning her first. Not for leaving me with that monster and suffering for years while she went off like a fucking-…” Jonathan’s hand clenched against his chest. “She… she felt guilty about all the people who had died. The people who tormented me. Who had hurt me. Who had caused me to suffer. Not once had she ever tried to contact me. Never did she write me, or give me some type of closure. I… I was nothing to her. I was a criminal. And that…” His breathing hitched softly as his voice began to tremble further. His sigh was shaky as he continued to talk. “That… hurt me. It scared me to know tha-that the only thing she ever felt towards me was not remorse; not anger or disappointment or worry or hurt, but fear. Just fear… Ironic, isn’t it? Now that she’s dead, I would have preferred anything else. Anything. Anything but fear.” He made an attempt at another humorless chuckle, but it faltered as he breathing became heavier and his knuckles turned white. It had begun to get harder to breathe. “I… hate you.” 

Jervis didn’t speak, knowing the harsh words weren’t meant for him.  

Jonathan rubbed at his eyes with the balls of his wrist. “I… hate you…” he repeated, his breathing hitching once more as he attempted to speak properly. “I hate you. I hate you. I-I hate you. I hate you I hate you I h-hate you I ha-ate you.” His voice gradually grew louder, but the words only began to unravel more. “I-I hate you I hate you I hate you I h-hate you I hate you I haTE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU!” 

Jonathan’s body shook as he had stopped trying to clear his eyes. His thin frame quaked, jerking as he tried to take in lungfuls of air as he expelled near silent sobs.  

Jervis stood by, listening to him mumble his hatred under his breath in between chokes in his voice. The sky had turned a scarlet and was fading into the vivid shades of magenta that brought the night. Still, the Hatter did not mind, placing a gentle hand on the Scarecrow’s shoulder to let him know he was right there. 

Darkness had almost completely set by the time Jonathan was able to pull himself back together, his breathing slowing and his mumbling coming to a halt. He was still nearly doubled over, his sleeves wet after wiping away any tears left over. It had seemed to be that the worst had passed. Jonathan stumbled over to the defiled grave, turning and sitting on the tombstone as he took a slow moment to catch his breath and recollect himself. Jervis blinked and watched, deciding to join him and he sat on the stone grave of the man’s mother. Crane hardly noticed, taking in another lungful of air as he turned his head towards him. “Jervis…” he muttered under his breath, catching the attention of the denizen of Wonderland.  

Before Jervis even realized what had happened, he was pulled into a large embrace by the lankier man,  being given an uncharacteristically tight squeeze for only a moment. Just as quickly as it had started, however, it was gone. Jonathan had pulled himself away, standing straight up once again and dusting himself off. He had dried his face and seemed to have pulled himself together. Once he was finished fixing his sleeves, he took in a deep breath, and looked down at Jervis. “Can we please go back to Gotham now?” he asked, his attempt at a proper question devolving into an exhausted sigh. He looked about as tired as Tetch felt after his episodes: like a man who wanted to go into a deep sleep and not care if they woke up the next day. He recognized that look all too well. 

Jervis, who had only just now regained an idea of what had just happened, look up at Jonathan and cracked a smile. “Of course. Let’s get out of this mimsy place,” he sighed, gently taking Jonathan by the elbow. The doctor didn’t seem to care, letting the man lead him along for once. “Even this place has gotten too mad for my taste.” 

The two trudged back to the car, one emotionally drained and the other finally able to understand why Jonathan wanted to go home so badly. This entire trip was just mentally exhausting altogether and they both just wanted to leave and never speak of this in a public setting. 

“So, how do you feel right about now?” Jervis sighed, getting into the driver’s seat whilst the other slid into the passenger side. “Exhausted, stuffy, weak, pathetic, and ashamed,” Jonathan replied bluntly, buckling in and crossing his arms as he looked ahead. He had returned to his neutral expressions, neither anger nor sadness present in his voice, although he did take the time to breathe. “However… I’ll admit that I feel better.” He frowned slightly. “I suppose I needed that more than I was willing to admit.” He then gave a smirk to Jervis, nudging him slightly with an elbow. “Where did you learn to speak like such a psychiatrist? Doing your homework, are you?” Tetch merely smiled softly to himself, lifting the rim of his hat slightly to look up at the thinner man. “I learn from the best,” he giggled. Jonathan couldn’t help the smile that flitted his lips as he looked forward again, not having the energy to even act angry. 

“I just feel hungry,” Jervis murmured, now finally paying attention to his own needs for once that day. “And I’m craving a nice cup of tea.” 

“Oh, when are you not?” Jonathan scoffed, before looking over at him. “By the way, should you tell anyone about this-“ 

“Even the Dormouse?” 

“Especially the Dormouse, your body will never be found.” 

Jervis just grimaced, having already heard these threats a million times already. “So, are you ready for the trip ahead?” he asked him, only to receive a shrug. “Perhaps,” Jonathan sighed, rubbing his eyes with his palms one last time. He looked absolutely tired, despite just having nearly half a day of sleep earlier. His shoulder were slumped and he no longer held that strict posture he always forced himself to uphold. He just seemed about ready to throw in the hat. Knowing Crane, though, Jervis knew it wouldn’t stop him; the man was a workaholic who, if he didn’t finish his work before he passed out, probably finished all of his work in his dreams. “I feel miserable,” he muttered, slumping back into his seat. “Cheer me up.” 

Jervis looked over in slight confusion. “Pardon me?” he replied, requesting him to clarify. “Jervis, I’m emotionally drained, I have a gunshot wound in my arm, we’re probably being chased by the Bat, and I’ve just realized I brought someone with me across southern United States in a much-too-small car and killed over twenty people just so I could have a twenty-minute crying session in front of them. I’m ashamed, embarrassed, and we’re in physical pain. I am feeling absolutely awful right now,” he complained, running a hand through his unkempt red hair. “You’re always good at cheering Nygma and I up even when we don’t want your presence. Do something.” 

The Englishman grimaced as a reaction. “Oh, so I’m just a form of entertainment, am I?” he questioned, though it was clear he wasn’t taking this seriously at all. “Oh don’t give me that,” Jonathan huffed, cocking a brow at him. “Go on. You usually have a knack for a good distraction. Say something that will irritate me like you always do. Something annoying or will start a debate. Something that will take my mind off of all this mess. I want to think about something else. Anything else.” 

Jervis furrowed his brow, looking down. “Jon?” 

“Yes?” Crane replied, looking over. 

“Remember when you were talking about your mother?” 

“It happened twenty minutes ago, Jervis.” 

“And you were saying you hated her over and over again?” 

“Unfortunately, yes. Why are you bringing this up?” 

“Jon?” 

“What are- yes?” 

“You had an accent again.” 

Jonathan stopped, staring ahead. “That should just about do it. Let’s get out of here.” 

“It was the same word. ‘You.’” 

“You can drive now, Tetch.” 

“You said it a very silly way again. Almost like ‘yew’. Like the country version of a female sheep.” 

“I don’t even know what that- Jervis, please start driving.” 

“You seem to have trouble with that word.” 

“Hatter I swear on whatever messed up god you believe in-“ Scarecrow hissed, shooting a glare his way and causing Jervis to just break into a soft chuckle and begin getting the car to start. Once the engine had turned on and the car was ready, he sat back in his seat, a small smile gracing his face. He looked over at Jonathan, who just looked like he wanted to take a nap and never make contact with another human being ever again. He thought back to the events he had just experienced; the crows, the graves, Jonathan expressing despair for the first time since they had met years earlier. It made him smile softly, feeling as though he had done something right for once. The voices in his head seemed to laud him, not discourage him, and to him it was almost a prideful feeling. Not just right when it came to his line of work, but the entire experience just made him feel better. 

“Hare,” he spoke softly, catching the other’s attention rather quickly. “What?” the March Hare sighed with an impatient tone. Jervis didn’t let it impact him, though; that was just how Jonathan was. “If you ever feel the need to, well, talk about something, Edward and I are always here to hear you out. At least one of us should be. You just need to say so. We will keep it all between us. No one else has to know about this ever.” 

Jonathan merely scoffed in response, looking away from him. “I'm still angry I'm not the one who's saying all this fluff to you instead.” He paused, resting his hand in his lap. He had already done enough of that, Hatter wanted to say, but kept it inside. “Though, I’ll keep it in mind. I… I appreciate it, Hatter.” The Hatter smiled, just glad he was still alive to have this conversation. “Hare?” Jonathan now seemed on the line, nearly crossing into murderous impatience. He looked at Jervis with a scowl. “When we finally get to rest… you need to wash your hands,” Jervis said simply as he began driving. “Oh shut it,” Jonathan spat, rolling his eyes. 

With that, they left the rural area, neither one of them ever looking back.

Chapter Text

“Okay, okay, here’s one,” the Riddler spoke up after the few minutes of silence. He seemed to sit up straighter, despite the gun pointed at him and the ropes that tied him to the chair. “Though useless when received by the foreigner, I travel around the world, but stay in one corner. What am I?” 

Rocky sat back, playing with the barrel of the shotgun a bit as he thought for a moment. His brow furrowed in light confusion as he searched for the answer, much to Nygma’s delight. Still, the henchman took several blind stabs in the dark, and decent ones at that, before giving up. “Alright alright, what is it?” he asked, just as the other was getting ready to gloat. 

“A stamp. It’s rather simple,” Riddler boasted. “Even a child could solve it, really. Perhaps Scarecrow should hire children instead of the usual smooth-brains that he usually employs.” 

Rocky quirked a brow. He had been called several intellectually insulting names throughout the day and in the past, but that was a new one. “Smooth-brains?” he puzzled. Riddler gave a dramatic sigh as he slumped in his bindings. “I suppose I have to explain everything, don’t I?” he muttered, before taking in a deep inhale. “Some species of animals, most famously koalas, have such underdeveloped intellectual abilities that their brains are-“ 

“You know what?” Rocky interrupted, shutting his eyes and waving a hand up. “Never mind. I don’t really wanna know.” 

“Of course your kind isn’t interested,” he replied after the usual scoff. “That’s why minds like mine and somewhat lesser intellectuals such as Crane or Fries do all the thinking. Even light-hearted banter proves to be too much for people to keep up.” The underling grimaced as he took a hand to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “Geeze, I’ve heard you were conceited, but I always thought it was over-exaggerated until now,” he muttered.  

“Conceited? Ha! I’m surprised you even know the word,” Riddler spat, sitting back in his seat. “You’re just intimidated by superior intellect.” 

“Well… you’re smart, I’ll give you that,” Rocky shrugged, not sure how he was supposed to answer. Yes, he was offended, but this was the Riddler he was dealing with; he though everyone was an idiot, so Rocky didn’t take it too personally. “Smart?” Nygma huffed, almost sounding offended at the compliment. The henchman quickly found he error of his ways and gave an apologetic ghost of a smile. “Understatement?” he chuckled. Riddler only looked away in annoyance, though he seemed to have given flexing his intelligence a rest for now. However, he still needed to get one last word out there. “Of the century.” 

“Okay, I got one,” Rocky spoke as he thought of a riddle, taking his mind off of the villain’s haughtiness. “So, I make you weak, but I also make you strong when you need me. I-“ 

“No rhyme?” Riddler interrupted, not exactly annoyed, but just judgmental enough to get Rocky to forget what he was trying to say. “Does it have to rhyme?” he asked with a light groan, playing with the barrel of his shotgun. “Do I need to teach you about aesthetic,” the villain scoffed, to which the henchman returned a confused look. “I wouldn’t think you were into aesthetics,” he retorted, to which Riddler truly became annoyed. “Well, it seems that you’re just about as cognizant as you are brilliant Haven’t you noticed that everything I wear or use is green and with question marks you absolute dullard?” 

“Yeah, and haven’t you noticed I have a shotgun pointed at you?” 

Rocky’s attention was caught by his phone ringing in his pocket. He blinked and picked it up. “That’s probably the boss,” he muttered. Riddler didn’t seem too pleased about it, his shoulders slumping. “I suppose he’s going to ask you to gas me now, hmm?” he sighed as the man across from him answered the call and put it on speaker. The henchman thought for a second, before giving him a look that clearly read “yeeeaah, probably.” Riddler looked absolutely miserable. “Yeah Mister Scarecrow, sir?” Rocky answered in his gruff voice, waiting for the inevitable order to be rid of the captured villain. 

A tired sigh rang out from the other end, the thin voice on the other end confirming that it was indeed his boss. “Rockwell. Is Nygma still alive?” Jonathan spoke, his voice keeping its usual firm a dignified frame, but it was clear he was exhausted. “Uh, yeah, he is,” Rocky replied, pointing the weapon in the direction of the man as he gave him a passing look. “I’m looking at him right now. What’s up?” 

The good doctor paused in his answer, letting out another exhale. Riddler cleared his throat, being prepared to negotiate his life with the sadist. 

“Let him go,” Jonathan clipped. 

“What?” Rocky asked. 

“What?” Ridder sputtered. 

“What?” came a familiar English voice from the other end. 

“What?” Crane questioned. 

“Well, uh… nothing,” Rocky shrugged, getting up and putting down the phone and shotgun. “So you want me to gas him or something, Mister Scarecrow, sir, or…?” 

“No need,” Crane replied softly. “I’ll be returning in a maximum of three days should there be no interruptions, so I’d rather you be more focused on keeping more dangerous intruders out. Nearly dying and having a shotgun pointed at him for over twelve hours is fine enough punishment. I’m sure he’s well afraid of the consequences should he cross me again.” 

Nygma opened his mouth to dispute it, but Rocky shot him a warning look as he untied him. The mastermind took a moment to consider what would happened if he really told the Scarecrow he wasn’t scared of him; he then promptly shut his mouth, rubbing his arms and trying to restore blood flow once the bindings were off. He stood up, grabbing his hat that had been carelessly thrown to the side. “Well while I’m surprised by your change of heart, I suppose I can’t be angry,” he huffed, grabbing his cane as well and placing the staff firmly on the ground. “I must venture back to my own lair.” 

“Just don’t pull a stunt like that around the likes of me again,” Jonathan warned, to which Riddler only chuckled in response. “Oh Crane, I knew you weren’t going to kill me this whole time,” he countered with a cocky grin any man could feel from over the phone. “Even if you’re not on my intellectual plane, I know you’re not dumb enough to kill me and waste future opportunities of defeating the bat!” 

The phone was silent for a moment. “Rockwell, put the phone off speaker and give it to him.” Rocky shrugged and picked up the device, handing it over to Riddler, who quirked a brow in light confusion as he brought the phone up to his ear, walking over to pick up his cane. He paused, however, when he heard the strain in Jonathan’s voice, sounding almost tight and with the tired weight behind it more obvious when off speaker. He clearly heard Jervis say something aside to him that Crane took a moment to listen to. Edward felt his lips tighten into a thin frown at it, always feeling unsatisfied whenever there was a bit of information he still didn’t know; a piece of the puzzle that was missing, and right now this puzzle was missing half the damn box. 

“Nygma,” he breathed, “I could tell you right now that you are the most insufferable, useless, arrogant, and worthless man I have ever met, with no value or contribution to this plane of existence, nor any of our lives, and if I had my underling kill you right now, no one would notice, nor would they care.” 

Edward stared forward, unsure of even what to respond with. While sure, he had been insulted before, never had it really been from someone who had literally nearly killed him hours before. Anger sparked within him as he clenched the phone in his hand. He should just burn Scarecrow’s precious lair to the ground for even daring to speak to him like this, as if he was some common criminal and not someone who had nearly duped and finished the Batman on numerous occasions. Speaking to him as if he was nothing. Looking to the side as he internally seethed, he pulled the phone away and prepared to hang up.  

“However…” 

He paused, slowly bringing the phone back to his ear. While he was enraged beyond comprehensible words, he wouldn’t be able to go back not knowing what Jonathan had left to say. Crane always knew how to string him along to keep on listening. Call it OCD as most do, but he just needed to know. “However?” 

Jonathan took a deep breath on the other end. He could hear Jervis’ English accent say something incomprehensible before Crane continued. 

“However, I would be lying.” 

Nygma blinked, his brow furrowed. “This is one of your psychological tricks, isn’t it? A poor attempt at reverse psychology, perhaps?” he accused. “Or is it that you’re just ill?” 

“Nygma, in this risky business we’re entwined in, it’s hard to come across those you actually trust,” he continued, “and though you are, at times, insufferable and your obsessions can lead to catastrophe after catastrophe, you are one of the best to work with and one of my few preferred choices of company. We’ve worked together on very few occasions, but in the time that we’ve known each other, I’ve felt that you are one of only a few people that I can trust, which is why it causes me unfathomable rage to know that we’re even having this conversation whilst you’re in my lair. If your knowledge-driven OCD is so intolerable that you have to break into my base to get some answers, you honestly could have just asked me. Even if you don’t have my number, I know you’re smart enough to somehow get in contact with me. Through some negotiations, I most likely would have given you your answers. So, with that said, I am putting trust in you by letting you go this time with a warning. You are genuinely one of the most intellectually refined people I’ve met, so don’t be an imbecile and betray my trust, or so help me god I will personally lobotomize you, and don’t test me; you know I know just where to hit.” 

Riddler was silent for a moment. He never suspected Jonathan Crane of all people to speak like this to him. Still, he was backtracking to try and take in everything he had just heard. “Could you repeat that last bit again? About me and my intellect?” 

“You owe me, Nygma.” 

With that, the call ended. Edward stared at the wall for a moment, before pulling the phone away and tossing it over his shoulder, where Rocky luckily caught it before it hit the ground. “I believe it’s about the right time for me to get going. Bats to catch and whatnot. I’m sure you know,” he said, keeping his voice casual and upbeat in tone. He thought for a moment, before bending down and picking up his cane. He felt sick just being here now. He grimaced to himself over his own sensitivity at that moment. He was about to head towards the door and just leave, but he stopped to look over at Scarecrow’s henchman. “He’s not dying is he?” he queried, to which Rocky cautiously shook his head. “Not that I know of,” he answered slowly, taking time to think about that question. “Why?” 

“Well, right now I’m trying to find all the pieces to the puzzle, and I think Scarecrow’s just broke my fingers so I can’t grab the pieces,” he muttered under his breath before heading out of the lair. 

“Well that was generous of you, throwing such comments in there when you didn’t need to,” Jervis hummed, tapping he steering wheel as he continued to drive down the freeway. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you compliment someone in that manner before. Usually they’re paired with thinly veiled threats.” He let out a soft yawn, being sure to cover up his mouth politely. “You called him one of the smartest people you’ve met for the Red Queen’s sake.” 

“I didn’t say he was street smart. The man needs a good ego boost every now and then,” Jonathan sighed, resting back against the cushion of the stolen car. “It’s essential for individuals to receive outside encouragement and mental stimulation in order to sustain a better attitude. It’s called reciprocity; he leaves my base alone and in return I praise his intellect. Not to mention you talked me into the entire thing.”  

Tetch tossed him a look with pursed lips. “Oh, you were going to leave him there for days, the poor mouse,” he countered with a giggle. “Though, I only asked that you take the gun off him. Freeing the little Dormouse and giving him that address was no such request of mine.” Jonathan visibly rolled his eyes in light annoyance, though he felt too tired to make any sort of argument out of it. “I’m also not exactly feeling myself right now, Tetch. You’ve caught me at the weakest I’ve been in over a decade. Trust me, by tomorrow, I’ll be back to my usual dignified self again. Let’s get some rest before I fall asleep right here,” he murmured. “Ah, tell me all about it,” Jervis exhaled to himself, his mind elsewhere as the last bit of red faded from the sky. A smile crept up to his face, not unnoticed by his companion, but certainly ignored. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” Crane muttered, but Jervis didn’t seem to want to let it die so easily. 

“Well, speaking of being yourself…” Tetch trailed off. That meant he was going to ask something potentially irritating.  

“Spit it out already,” the good doctor sighed, tired of skirting around issues as they had done so many times before. “I’d like to hear you speak,” Jervis requested. This received a questioning look from the psychiatrist. “Pardon me?” he replied, fiddling with his glasses that hung from his long-sleeved shirt as he awaited clarification. “I’d like to hear you speak normally,” Jervis explained, a stupid grin spread across his face. He only got the most unamused stare he’d received in the past hour, which was a bit of a record. Still, he pressed on. “I want to hear you speak normally,” he repeated, hoping he sounded a bit more serious this time around. “Now that I know all you speak are imitations and impressions and impersonations, I implore that I hear you speak normally for once. Just once.” As he said this, he found and pulled into a small motel; a small enough motel that you might suspect a man and his dead mother might be residing in it. While the two didn’t want to stop, they had to if they wanted to keep driving without incident. Seeing as Jervis came from a country with the exact opposite rules of the road, it wouldn’t be a wise idea to have him tired and behind a wheel. 

“No,” Jonathan stated firmly as they pulled into a small lot. “We are not talking about this.” He turned to get out of the lot, but flinched and stopped when his arm was lightly touched by his partner in crime, just barely enough to catch his attention. Jervis was looking up at him with a jovial grin and an apologetic gaze. “You already said you’re not yourself; this is the only time I’m sure I’ll ever get the chance. Just this once?” he requested. He sounded like a child begging his uncle to be picked up. “Then I’ll never bother you again about the subject, I swear on it Alice herself.” 

“Jervis, this is how I normally speak,” Jonathan countered, his temper rising, though on low heat more than anything. “Poppycock!” Jervis denied, letting go of him. “If that was true, you wouldn’t have any slip-ups! There’s no need to be embarrassed, Hare. It’s just an accent.” 

“I have no accent,” Crane scoffed, opening the door of his car. “You’re acting like a child. Stop with this foolish nonsense.” Jervis quickly pulled away, frowning softly as he realized he was pushing the envelope. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Jonathan, who seemed to have much to say today. “I’ve had enough of this trip as it is, so I’d rather not keep being reminded of the roots I thought I’d left behind years ago. I’m from a different part of the country Jervis, so is it really so odd I may have a few quirks in my voice? You don’t see me asking you to call me ‘mate’ all the time just because you’re British like it’s some neat party trick. As much as your prodding has aided any underlying problems today, I’d much appreciate that you drop this subject.” Jonathan paused as he was about to exit the door, noticing the apologetic ghost of a smile he was receiving. With a sigh, he closed his eyes for a split second, as if to internally scold himself for something. He took a quick glance at the keys. 

Then it happened. It was quick, and the Englishman almost didn’t catch it from how hurried and deliberate it was. Jonathan looked over at him and reached for the keys. “Can yew han’ me mah keys? I’m gonna be drivin’ nex’ time.” 

It was slurred and it was slowed like there was a certain weight behind his speech. It was improper, but it was smooth and natural, as though the speaker had been talking in such a way for years. Even though Jonathan was clearly the one talking, it didn’t even sound like him, as it lost all the thin, clipping, and cold nature that made his usual speech so distinctive. Jervis couldn’t help it. He slapped a hand to his own mouth, trying to hide the ever-growing grin that threatened to take over his face. A soft “oh my” left his mouth as lifted another hand to hide his giddy expression. 

Jonathan for the first time seemed to flush in embarassment, tearing the keys out of the ignition and exiting the car. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, now regretting the little gift he had just given his foreign partner. Jervis let out a little gasp as he left the car quickly. “Oh no no no, mate, don’t be embarrassed!” he called apologetically, strolling after him as Jonathan stormed towards the motel. “I was just unprepared for it, that’s all! I love it, I swear!” 

“You’re unbelievable, Jervis,” Jonathan muttered, ignoring the smaller man’s little titter. “No no no no, don’t be shy about it,” Tetch encouraged. “Your voice is like fine treacle! I just want to store it all in a well and keep it forever!” 

Jonathan looked back at him, stopping at the door to the lobby. “Well what did you think it was going to be like?” he scoffed, to which Tetch stopped. He removed his hat, playing with the rim as it was soon him who became the shy one. “Well… I thought you would say something else when you finally went about it,” he confessed, trying to wipe the grin off of his face. “Well, what did you think I would say?” Jonathan questioned. 

Jervis’ voice became small as his next words were uttered; he looked to the side, trying to hide his heated face. “‘What in tarnation?’” he squeaked, an embarrassed grin coming to his face. 

The fearsome villain stopped in his tracks, bringing a hand to his own mouth as he tried to keep something from slipping, though a little “snrk” was able to break out. He wasn’t prepared for that, he will admit, but he quickly recollected himself. 

“I hate you all so much,” he murmured, going inside the motel to greet the poor fool inside. “As you do everyone, Hare,” Jervis tittered, following him inside after placing his hat back upon his blonde mess of hair. “By the by, don’t you mean, ‘I hate ya’ll so much’?” 

“Jervis, I swear on everything I love that I will make you feel fear like you have never known,” Jonathan swore, to which Tetch just smiled politely at him. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve never loved anything before, hmm you cold-hearted bastard?” he laughed, ignoring the death glare. 

Dirt kicked up into a small cloud as the Batmobile came to a sudden halt in the dirt road. The thick glass canopy sliding out of place, the Dark Knight smoothly removed himself from the cockpit of his car. The recently shadowed landscape made it difficult for those untrained to see anything of interest, but even in his black and gloomy surroundings, his hawk-like eyesight wasn’t hampered. 

“Batman, how’re you doing out there?” 

Batman paused, listening into his radio transmission as he heard the distinctive voice of his protégé. “Better,” he answered, looking over to the shadow of the aged chapel in the distance, shrouded by the branches of looming trees that seem to have sprouted for the sole purpose of hiding whatever secrets contained within. “How’s Gotham?” 

“Could be better,” Robin sighed through the radio, the stress in is voice indicating he was currently on the move. “Ivy’s paired up with Harley and have gone a bit haywire. Nothing I can’t handle, though. We recently captured Firefly after he tried to burn down a building. He was sure surprised to see it was only me.” Batman frowned, continuing his observation of his surroundings. “Do they know I’m missing?” he questioned. He could hear Robin hive a hum of denial. “Nah, can’t imagine so, but I think they’re starting to catch on. You might want to hurry up on catching Scarecrow and Hatter. How’re you doing on that, by the way?” 

Batman looked back at the road, turning on his night vision installed into his cowl and following the tracks paved into the impressionable ground. “I’m closing in on Tetch and Crane,” he reported. “They were recently here. The tracks are fresh and match the wheels of the stolen vehicle reported.” 

“You sure it’s them?” Robin asked over the transmission, the hum background noise indicating he was driving through the streets of Gotham. “Definitely,” Batman replied, standing up and following the tracks with his eyes. “There’s no reason a random thief would stop in my location and make a complete U-turn and drive back. It seems they’re taking the route back to Gotham.” 

“Think you’ll be able to catch up with them before they disappear?” his partner inquired, his voice not showing a hint of worry. He knew his mentor would be fine, despite facing against two criminal masterminds at the same time. 

“Definitely,” the Knight answered, moving back to his vehicle. “Blood scans from the warehouse indicate both were injured.” 

“From the SWAT raid?”  

“From each other. I found a shell casing beside stains of Crane’s blood, fired from his own gun. Tetch’s blood was also found, but without a bullet, I can only assume it must have been from one of Crane’s other weapons. Possibly his scythe or a knife.” 

“Whoa. They tried to kill each other?” Robin murmured, grunting as his motorcycle came to a halt on the other end. “I thought they were working together.” 

“Tetch is an unpredictable and violent schizophrenic, capable of anything short of taking over the world,” Batman answered, getting back into the driver’s seat. “Whoa whoa, don’t test him,” Robin interjected, but the Knight ignored him. “Crane has an antisocial personality disorder and had shown faint signs of having dissociative identities. They were bound to get at each other’s throats at some point, especially given their past together. However, whatever happened at the warehouse, they seemed to have made up. There isn’t enough blood to indicate the death of either one, and I found medical supplies with traces of both men, indicating Crane patched Tetch and himself up. There’s also the fact that the entire SWAT team was picked off by both of them.” 

“Pfft, they’re friends again? It’d almost be sweet if they didn’t precede to kill twenty people and weren’t also the Scarecrow and Mad Hatter. How fast do you think you’ll be able to catch them?” 

Batman revved the car. “Within tonight, surely. Keep Gotham safe, Robin. Before dawn, I’ll have them and I’ll be heading back.” 

Without another word and with the well wishing of his protégé watching over him, he took off down the road. 

Chapter Text

Jonathan hummed to himself as he sat comfortable in his respective bed, writing in the little journal he kept. He never got to read it, Jervis mused as he downed the last bit of tea in his cup. Though, he supposed it wasn’t a bad thing; whatever information Jonathan had written on him was either details he already knew or something nasty. He wouldn’t put it past him to write distasteful details on him, seeing as they hadn’t the best track record. However, what he nearly failed to comprehend was that if Jonathan was once again writing in it — in pen, no less — it only meant that the doctor was updating it. He bet his bottom dollar (not that he had much, the poor man the Hatter was) that it was he who was filling the page. If not him then at least Nygma. He would admit his curiosity was climbing, but now knowing of Jonathan’s extreme need for boundaries, he knew he wouldn’t be able to take a peek at the pages unless the man was either incapacitated or dead. 

One dead March Hare. What a dreadful thought. Jervis shivered at the idea. Though, after the day’s events, he supposed he no longer saw Jonathan as timeless as one of his books.  

After the whole accent incident — a moment Tetch struggled to move past — Crane seemed to be rebuilding the walls that the Hatter had struggled so hard to break down, this time with steel. He hoped the Hare would leave a door this time, even if he kept it locked. Perhaps a few windows and some drapes. 

Jonathan’s eyes flicked up to meet the Hatter’s from over thinly framed glasses. “Curious, Jervis?” he questioned, looking back down to finish whatever he was writing down. “Always curiouser and curiouser, Hare,” the Hatter chuckled. “I’m more worried that you’re writing in pen.” 

Crane took a moment to glance at the black writing utensil placed firmly in his hand. “Worried?” he grimaced, inspecting the pen to see if here was anything wrong with it. “Nonsense. My penmanship is impeccable.” To this, Jervis shook his head. “No no, I’m referring more to the permanency. What if you make a mistake?” 

“I don’t make mistakes, Tetch,” Jonathan retorted. He noted the quirked brow of his partner in crime. “Well, not in my writing, anyways.” 

“But what if something changes? You can’t erase what you’ve already penned, and so should something differ in the future, the law of your book would remain the same!” Hatter argued. “What if I decided to change my name to Hatta? What would you do then?” 

Jonathan paused, setting down his pen on the nightstand as he watched him. Now that Jervis was more relaxed, he was falling back to his normal state of being a half-psychotic. It wasn’t a full episode, but just something he was comfortable with that appeased both the voices in his head and  yet still keep a grip on his mind. Insanity wouldn’t set in unless Tetch was faced with a stressful event or he was coerced like last time. “That’s more of outdated information than a mistake, but I suppose should there be any of that, it can serve as notes on development.” 

“Any development with me?” the Hatter asked, leaning in despite being on a completely separate bed. “Oh I have pages on you,” Jonathan replied without 

 hesitation, shutting the book. “You are a complex one, after all. Despite your predictable nature, you still manage to keep me guessing from time to time.” 

Mad Hatter was just going to kindly ignore the part about predictability. “Oh? How so?” he questioned, removing his hat from atop his head to inspect it for any unwanted filth. 

“Well, for one,” Crane replied with a slow exhale, “when you told me you were going to use the woman at the front desk to buy us Chinese food, I honestly didn’t think you were serious.”  

The smaller man was silent as he watched him gesture to the empty boxes of eastern cooking. He held his head high as he put his hat back into place. “Never analyze a man with an empty stomach,” he said simply. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you eat anything other than buttered toast and tea is all,” Jonathan shrugged, removing his reading glasses and placing them next to his pen. “Unless it was at the Asylum. If you weren’t being force-fed, I don’t think I saw you eat anything at all.” 

“I have standards, Hare,” Jervis scoffed, receiving a somewhat bewildered break in the stoic façade. “We just ate three boxes of Chinese takeout,” the doctor contradicted. “I have very fluctuating standards, Hare,” Hatter corrected without missing a beat, pouring himself another cup of tea. “And we did not eat three boxes; I ate two boxes and you ate just one. Given your thin nature, I don’t quite blame you, but you haven’t even a fortune cookie since we received the food. I was given the honor of having yours.” 

“I don’t like the taste,” he retorted without much change in expression. “It’s not like I’ll gain anything useful from reading one of those slips of paper.” 

“Even so, you miss the magic of knowing your fortune,” Hatter told him, rummaging through his bag to retrieve the package of sugar cubes. In response, Jonathan grabbed one of the slips of fortune. “‘You will live long and eat many fortune cookies’,” he read, crumpling up the paper and flicking it over to the Hatter. “The magic there is about as existent as your respect for boundaries.” He watched the tiny ball of paper deflect off of the large top hat before dropping to the ground. 

“Oh, I don’t suppose that statement was prompted by my earlier attempts at establishing camaraderie, is that true?” Jervis huffed, placing a cube into his tea and waiting for it to dissolve. “Once again, I insist that there is nothing wrong with two grown gentlemen having a conversation on the same bed.” 

“There is everything wrong with two grown gentlemen having a conversation on the same bed,” Crane emphasized, this one bit of Hatter logic seemingly being enough to break him, “and it would please me greatly if you stayed over on your bed.” He let out a soft yawn, signifying he was ready for some rest. He placed his book inside his bag, zipping it up tightly. He found it useful to be a light sleeper; should anyone try rummaging through his things, he would most likely be alerted. He trusted Jervis to be civil, but not the Mad Hatter. Hopefully some more sleep would shake the bits of Wonderland from his strained mind. 

“Time for rest? You seem right exhausted,” Tetch noted, letting out the contagious yawn as well. “I suppose we’ve earned it.” He finished off his second cup, before putting everything away. “Before we’re off, I shall check on my little rook to make sure she’s working properly,” he hummed. Jonathan merely gave a hum of response, rummaging through his bag. 

Jervis exited the room, stepping out into the cool environment of the outside. He smiled softly, looking out to the horizon where he could just see the moon peeking out over the distant mountains. Crickets chirped from the nearby grassy areas, ensuring the night wouldn’t remain silent. He sighed contentedly; this was one of the few times he had actually stopped and taken in the environment since they’d started this trip. Although he enjoyed the closed area of Gotham or London, he could appreciate the new sights and openness of the area. He didn’t look too long, however, deciding that the puppet he had in the lobby was more important. 

As expected, the working woman at the front desk was still there, scribbling into the ledger repetitive phrases and nonsensical drawings. Hatter smiled, taking a good look over her before approaching. “Holding down the fort, I assume?” he hummed, holding open the front door as he prepared to walk right back out. The woman smiled warmly at him as if he was another average guest at the motel. “Everything is secure,” she told him, sounding as professional as one would expect. “It’s my job to ensure your stay here is as comfortable and safe as your own home. I hope you enjoy your night.” Her finger tapped the the surface softly, matching the perfect beat of an invisible metronome. He was glad he had decided to use hypnosis; it saved him from using a card and it helped him keep one of his specialties finely tuned.  

“Good good,” he tittered. “Remember, there’s no room for a Jabberwock at our table.” With a soft hum, he waved goodbye and headed back out to the room.  

Jonathan was finishing searching through his things when his partner had reentered the room, though he gave no acknowledgement. Tetch let out a soft yawn, the time finally catching up to him. He glanced over at the digital clock on their bedside, checking the time as if he didn’t already know it. The blue glow of the clock’s numbers were rather bright, clearly displaying the time at six in the afternoon. He had tweaked the digital clock just a bit to it would stay that way, the small section that displayed seconds no longer moving upwards. Jonathan thought it unnecessary, but he was ignored. He covered the clock with his coat so it wouldn’t shine so brightly in the night. Before he went to bed, however, he pulled out a cube of sugar from the package he kept in his. “Sweets for sweet dreams,” he smiled, before popping it into his mouth and hopping back onto his bed. As he let the cube dissolve in his mouth, he had one last question before he was ready to sleep. 

“It isn’t true, is it? That sugar can give you frightful dreams?” he asked, knowing Jonathan to be the fear expert in every department. The former psychiatrist merely shook his head and turned off the beside lamp, shrouding the room in darkness. “Of course not, that’s just a myth. The only being to truly be fearful of is me.” 

“As well as the Jabberwock,” Jervis added. 

“Yes. As well as the Jabberwock,” Jonathan sighed. “Now go to sleep. If you don’t wake me up all night, I may be kind enough to clean your wound in the morning.” 

There was no reply as the two hit the hay, out like a light within five minutes. 

What woke Jonathan up an unknown amount of time later, he couldn’t say. His sleep had been interrupted by an unknown force in the night. He mumbled something incoherent even to himself as he buried his face into his pillow, just wanting a night of rest. The action caused his arm to twitch in pain, but he easily ignored it. He had suffered much more in the past. Despite this, his pain caused his senses to heighten as he became more awake, forcing him to be more aware of his surroundings. Every annoying sound and smells suddenly became that much more vexing. He heard the annoying buzz of the air conditioning. The faint smell of brewed tea was still in the air. He could feel the cheap stiffness of the mattress he was currently laying upon. Just as well, he could detect the muffled, but still audible shaky breathing coming from the bed beside his. That was what jerked him into his more aware state. 

The doctor sat up in his bed, listening to the quickened breathing; it held the kind of tremors he recognized in an instant. There was fear. A smile came to his face as he scanned around for Jervis. 

It took only a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the pitch blackness, and when they did, Jervis’ wide-eyes were staring back from across the room. Even in the darkness, he could see how Jervis’ dilated pupil that bore into him. He had a pillow clutched tightly to his body in a desperate attempt to seek any type of physical comfort, which was why his shaky hyperventilating was so muffled. His hat was placed so haphazardly atop his head, his usually neat hair now a wild mess. He was afraid. The Scarecrow would have taken this chance to torment and observe Jervis whilst in his terrified state. For a moment, he could feel that familiar glee upon seeing his peer in such a state, but Jonathan reluctantly pushed it all aside in favor of getting a better grasp on the situation. Something had shocked Tetch into an episode and he needed to know why before he could do anything for the Hatter. “Jervis…” he murmured, his voice low so as to not startle him. 

Tetch did not reply, staring straight at him like a deer trapped in headlights. “Hatter,” he tried again, knowing that the scientist was no longer in as stable a state as he had been when he had fallen asleep and this needed to be handled with much more care than previously. Luckily, this got a response. The Hatter shifted his gaze to the shut window, before quickly focusing his attention back to Jonathan. “The Jabberwock is about,” he whispered, as if any words louder than the hush would be detrimental. 

Jonathan blinked the sleep away from his eyes, giving him a confused look. “Excuse me?”  

Jervis’ voice only became louder as he clutched his pillow closer to his chest. “Beware the Jubjub bird,” he recited, his eyes shifting wildly, “and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!”  

“Hatter!” Jonathan hissed through his teeth, causing the haberdasher to clench his mouth shut. He removed himself from the bed, moving towards the shivering Jervis, who seemed too frightened to react in any way. He must have had a nightmare during one of his more erratic dreams, Crane concluded. He must have dreamt of the Dark Knight; there was no other explanation. While he was always a step or two away from reality, such a rude awakening would explain Tetch’s state. The man didn’t even seem to recognize the doctor. After a moment of looking over him, Crane swore under his breath and moved over to his bag, looking for a bottle he already knew wouldn’t be there. While Jervis may certainly disagree, putting him to sleep would probably be the best solution right about now. The Hatter was about as predictable as his Wonderland after all. 

“Damn you, Tetch,” he murmured under his breath. Jervis visibly flinched, letting out a flustered noise as he watched Jonathan search through his things. The sound clearly irked him, as the smaller man flinched once again upon receiving the cold glare that crossed unfiltered by the darkness. The former doctor stood up with another sharp curse, yet again drawing out another wince. “There couldn’t be a worse time for your delusions, Tetch.” He glanced over at his colleague with an unapologetic expression of vexation. He bit his lip, looking to the side as he knew he couldn’t be so abrasive lest he drive Tetch away. “You and your defiance of medication, I swear. If you weren’t-“ 

He stopped when a peculiar sound met his ears. Jervis clearly heard it, too, as he tensed up more than he already was. The sound was faint, but still audible, the noise resembling metal hitting metal. Whatever sentence that was previously leaving his mouth was now lost as he approached the window and peered out the blinds to see a familiar figure. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son,” Mad Hatter whispered, his voice now barely audible. So that was what he was so afraid of. Jonathan showed no emotion to the situation as it dawned on him just what was happening. His heart, however, began to beat just a tad faster. “It seems that we might have a guest,” he murmured under his breath. His annoyance with the situation now diminished, he turned back to the bag, shuffling through it once more. He was rather thankful for the small interruption, as it allowed him to recollect his priorities. He smiled softly to himself as he pulled out Scarecrow from the jumble of contents. The burlap fiend was always better at calming the Hatter’s nerves. 

“Snicker-snack! Off with his head!” Mad Hatter laughed nervously to himself, his attention now drawn to the black window, the only light for miles being the dim bulbs along the motel’s walls. There was nothing there (or so it seemed), but he didn’t take his eyes off the black glass. They whispered to him, the voices that so easily convinced him that the Jabberwock was near. He knew the moment he saw that figure that the monster was there to snatch them up. He had to keep watch for the Jabberwock lest he end up like a poor little mome rath. He laughed softly to himself, his mind rampant with images of a twisted black figure with ghastly white eyes. Sharp talons he could feel wrap around his throat, forcing him to scratch violently at his neck from the harshness of his own delusions. He hated black. He hated black more than he hated the Queen’s red. He’s rather see the azure of Alice’s fine dress, or perhaps the ever-ruffled magenta feathers of a borogove. He swallowed thickly, finding it hard to breathe despite the air being clear. Even though he had the pillow hugged tightly to his frame, he felt as though he was unable to grasp anything. He just wanted to return to his tea table, instead of this unknown area he found himself in.  

“Hatter,” he heard hiss from behind him. He jumped slightly, startled by the cutting tone, but was relieved to see the friendly masked face of the Hare. “March Hare!” he gasped, his mood brightening at the sight of the other criminal. “How good of you to join the tea party. My, it’s been rather mimsy as of late.” 

The Scarecrow gave him a passing glance, pulling out the large blade of his scythe from under the bed he had been resting on. With a slow turn to his companion, he gestured for the Hatter to stay quiet. The citizen of Wonderland quickly nodded in agreement, nervously looking back out the window. The other wouldn’t have it, though, forcing him to look back up at his masked visage with a gentle touch on the shoulder. Jonathan rarely touched anyone that he wasn’t torturing or trying to kill, so Hatter was hoping he would forgive when he jolted slightly at the interaction. “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself,” the villain chuckled, gray eyes glinting in the moonlight as he watched Jervis with a slight contemptuous, but still understanding gaze. Hatter smiled and let go of the pillow he had so desperately clung to. He found a strange comfort in the stitched smile that stretched the mask; how could anything with a smile that big not be reassuring? He gave his associate a smile and a nod, now having almost calmed down. 

Scarecrow took a moment to peek out the window, black pits for eyes surveying the empty parking lot. The Hatter did the same, his hands pressing against the windowsill as he leaned in close to the glass, leaving a soft fog as he leaned in close. “A man of words and not deeds is like a garden full of weeds,” Scarecrow murmured, unconsciously checking the vials of chemicals strapped to his body. Hatter let out a shrill titter, gaining a newfound excitement from the situation. He pulled out his pocket watch, listening to it tick softly. The second hand was just moving past the hands that counted the days and months, its gentle pricks past each marking sounding almost in sync to his slowing breathing. His eyes flicked up just in time to spot the shadow that disappeared from the light. “Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the dance?” the Hatter sung softly to himself. 

Scarecrow didn’t miss the figure either. While his partner was just beginning to settle down, his own heartbeat was speeding up at the prospect of an encounter with the icon everyone foolishly feared. A grin was etched onto his face from under his mask; they had company.  

“And when your heart begins to bleed, you’re dead, and dead, and dead indeed.”  

“Excuse me, sir, but I’m afraid all of our rooms are currently occupied.” 

Batman was not taken by surprise when he nearly had a knife sunken into his neck upon opening the door. He grabbed the woman’s arm before she could even get the tip of the blade close to his face. When she directed the knife to instead try to stab his arm, he planted a hand on her chest and gave her a forceful shove back. She lost her balance and slammed into the front desk, knocking the ledger off of the surface. Taking her stunned state to his advantage, Batman moved closer to the center of the room so as he wouldn’t have to be cornered by the door. He was quick to notice her unkempt uniform, as well as the weapon being a rather large pocket knife. There was no card in sight, and she wasn’t wearing any sort of mask. He would have to take the defensive on this one. 

As expected, the woman dragged herself back to her feet within seconds, charging at him without delay. He swiftly avoided the first slash at him and caught her arm the on the second. Moving behind her, he locked the arm that had caught hers around her throat. She continued to struggle with every bit of strength she had, but wasn’t able to budge her hand out of the Dark Knight’s solid grip. He was thankful for his years of martial arts training, as it only took a good six seconds for her to pass out when applying the rear choke. Once unconscious, he gently placed her down on her back, taking extra care not to hurt her. Unlike the common criminals he faced nightly, Hatter’s brand of henchmen were really anyone he found off the street. This was what made criminals like him or Professor Pyg or Poison Ivy harder to fight against; he had to constantly remind himself that the people who did their bidding weren’t just common criminals. He couldn’t hurt her like he would a thug with a knife. 

“Master Bruce, are you alright?” Alfred called through the receiver. “You cut off there for a minute. Did you get into a struggle?” 

“Unfortunately so,” Batman murmured, looking over the girl’s neck to make sure there were no permanent marks his suit may have left on her. “One of Mad Hatter’s body guards ambushed me. No card on her head, so he must have hypnotized her.” Alfred gave a soft sigh on the other end. “Hopefully neither of you were not injured during the scuffle? What about the employees of the motel? The guests?” 

“She’s works at the front desk,” he replied. “Jervis’ mind control doesn’t improve fighting skills, fortunately for her.” He looked back out at the near empty parking lot. “It seems that the rest of the staff were dismissed. Any guests were either forced to leave, or this hotel has just a run of bad business. I don’t think Tetch found it necessary to hypnotize them as well.” The knight paused, looking back down at the unconscious woman and searching her pockets. From her right pocket, he found the master key card to the rest of the motel. “Once I get Crane and Tetch, I want you notify the nearby hospital to pick her up and get her checked out. Warn them she may still be under hypnosis once she wakes up.” 

“Very well, Master Bruce. So I assume that means Scarecrow and Mad Hatter are at this location?” Alfred concluded. “I’m almost certain,” Batman confirmed. “Their stolen car is in this location, and given the encounter I just had, they most likely stopped here for rest.” 

“Speaking of rest, it’s best you find them quickly so you can get some of your own,” Alfred reminded him, sounding worried for him. “It’s been more than thirty-six hours since you’ve had any sleep. Even going at top speeds, it will be another twenty-four just to get back to Gotham. Rather unhealthy of you, sir.” 

“You know me, Alfred,” Bruce sighed, now beginning the process of searching the lobby for them before he would have to go about searching each room. “Trust me, they won’t be slipping past me. I’ve popped all four tired of their car. They won’t be getting away so easily without a getaway vehicle.”  

“Be very cautious, Master Bruce,” the butler warned. “You are trapped with two of the most dangerous criminals in Gotham. Make each move with a degree of hesitation.” 

“I’m not trapped with them. They’re trapped with me,” Batman told him, before moving out of the entrance and into the cold night and making sure the door was locked behind him. He took a moment to look around, his figure illuminated by a hanging lamp attached to the building’s exterior. Without delay, he moved to start searching each motel room. 

Each search was quick and brief. He could tell whether or not a room was empty just from how orderly the room was. He was positive Crane and Tetch wouldn’t take the time to neatly make their beds. He made sure each door was locked afterwards; he didn’t want them sneaking into another room to hide from him.  

Batman was about to enter into the third room down the left side of the building, but stopped when the sudden burst of noise came from the room beside his. Eyes snapping to the door, his guard immediately raised high as the noise didn’t rest. It sounded like the typical alarm a digital clock would have: high in pitch and obnoxiously loud. He took his attention away from the room he had been about to open, moving to the door where the alarm blared. He knew this very well may be a trap, but he wasn’t going to get to Tetch and Crane by just standing around and waiting for them to come out. 

Quickly unlocking the door, he swung the entrance open and took a step back, full expecting a scythe to come down on him the moment he revealed himself. However, that wasn’t the case. From where he was standing, the room seemed completely empty. Lived in, but currently empty. 

He frowned, entering and keeping a batarang in one hand should he be jumped again. There appeared to be no one inside; only a the alarm was there, seemingly triggered on its own. After quickly checking under the bed, he moved over to the digital clock and picked it up. Blue numbers illuminated his mask in the darkness, reading six PM. Tea time, he noted. Leave it to Jervis Tetch to put Wonderland into anything. The clock’s shrill beeping came at one-second intervals, loud enough to wake any heavy sleeper. He very quickly found the alarm button and promptly it off. Despite this, Batman noticed a faint ticking coming from the clock, coming at the same rate as the rings of the alarm. He frowned and unplugged the clock. Even with the power out, the ticking still remained. 

“Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you…” 

At the sound of the familiar voice, Batman snapped his attention towards the front door, but there was no one there. His senses didn’t lie, though; he heard the soft singing of the Hatter reciting a poem from the book he loved so dearly. He exited the room, fully expecting to see Tetch or perhaps Crane with a weapon, but the walkway was empty. Even still, the ticking remained. 

Bruce grimaced to himself, quickly realizing the two were trying to gain the upper hand on him. Locking the door behind him, he stepped out onto the cemented walkway along the building’s perimeter, scanning around for any signs of the two criminals. 

The dim lights of the motel seemed to flicker a bit, but he paid it no mind, making his way back down the walkway. As he listened for the villains, he realized he could barely concentrate on any outside noises other than the monotonous ticking sounds. He sped his walking up, knowing the faster he found them, the sooner this would all be over. However, even his steps could not drown out the monotonous back and forth intervals in his head. The exhaustion he had yet to feel in the past twenty-four hours seemed to finally be catching up to him; his mind felt drained and just needing rest. Still, he kept himself focused at the task at hand, now moving at a light jogging pace as he moved past the various doors. 

He just needed to concentrate on the task at hand. He had dealt with the two criminals many times before, so catching them unprepared should be an easier talk than any plan before. His breathing remained steady, but his heart seemed to beat in his ears. 

His movements slowed back down to a simple walk, passing by door after door. Every door he passed was another tick. Every tick was another beat of his heart. The metronome had slowed to match the heavy beating of his heart and the repetition of the doors. It was almost calming in a way, everything being so in sync around him. 

“Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you…” 

Batman spun around, his mind snapping out of the calming state, but the Hatter wasn’t there. He blinked, taking a swift survey around the area. Looking up at the door beside him, he had to admit he was a tad shaken up when he realized it was the door he had just exited from. He hadn’t moved an inch after leaving the room. Even still, his breathing remained calm, matching the even pace of the metronome and the thumps of his heartbeat. 

“Twinkle twinkle little bat, how I wonder what you’re at.” 

Every syllable hit each beat with perfect rhythm. Batman felt a strange sense of relaxation wash over him as the song fell in sync with the rest of the world around him. He blinked at the door, barely realizing the numbers that labeled it were no longer there. He couldn’t recall ever seeing them. Looking down the walkway, he never noticed how the other doors lost their numbers as well. All he really cared to look at is how the lights flickered in time with the metronome. Something struggled in the back of his mind, pressing against the edges of his psyche, but he paid as much attention to it as he would a mosquito. Or a fly. Or a bat. 

“Up above the world you fly, like a tea tray in the sky!” 

He barely heard the voice, only now noticing how the Mad Hatter was standing several yards away from him. The cheery man held a pocket watch for the Dark Knight to see, which quickly became the focus of the his attention. It ticked softly, but just loud enough for him to hear. The monotonous back and forth was in line with everything else: the breathing, the heartbeat, the song, the lights, the footsteps. They were all in time together.  

Mad Hatter smiled up at him cheerfully, but Batman barely noticed. Still, despite all this, something continued to fight within him, giving a struggle against the tangled mess of his mind like a fly in a spider web. Out. He needed out. 

“How delightful of you to join the tea party!” 

Batman could hardly make out what he was saying, as each syllable was emphasized in such a way that it blended in with the rhythm of the rest of the world. He was only hearing the beat of the pocket watch, the thump of his heart, and the padding of footsteps.  

He blinked slowly, eyes still trained on the watch. He wasn’t walking. Why were there footsteps if he wasn’t walking?  

Footsteps. He needed to concentrate on the footsteps. 

“Unfortunately, there’s just no room.” 

The footsteps. They stopped directly behind him. They fell out of rhythm. They didn’t keep going. Whatever was struggling at the back of his mind seemed to finally break free once his breathing began to speed back up. 

“Now now, I would appreciate it if you held still.” 

The ticking sped back up to it’s regular second intervals. The lights no longer flickered because they never flickered in the first place. He could could no longer hear the sound of his own heart. 

Mad Hatter let out a soft giggle, gazing behind the Dark Knight. 

“Off with his head!” 

Batman ducked just as the blade passed directly above his head. Hatter let out a surprised yelp when the weapon clashed with the brick wall. Scarecrow had to take a stumble backwards when the protector’s elbow jabbed forcefully onto his stomach in a defensive move. “How nice of you to join us in the real world,” the masked villain hissed with a grunt after having the wind knocked out of him, recovering from the move quickly and swiftly swinging his scythe to embed itself into the crusader’s armor. He was unsuccessful, however, when Batman avoided the attack with skillful evasion, delivering a firm blow to his already wounded shoulder. Scarecrow just cackled, the adrenaline once again pumping through his veins and making him numb to the pain. 

Hatter didn’t stay around, taking the time Scarecrow had given him to quickly go to the car and start it up. Before he could even open the door, he immediately realized that each of the four tires were completely deflated. “Well you might as well remove the tiles of a chessboard,” he spat under his breath, slamming a fist onto the hood of the car. This only ended up with him startling himself when the car alarm went off. The curses he shouted were drowned out by the alarm. Searching rapidly for another way out, he was quick to spot the Batmobile a good hundred feet away. He soon laughed at himself for even thinking about it. That’s when the Hatter suddenly remembered the poor girl he had hypnotized. Only a quick scan was needed until he saw her white vehicle and their escape. Without hesitation he ran into the front lobby of the motel. 

“It’s over, Scarecrow,” Batman growled, backing up in a defensive pose as his attacker readied himself for another swing of his weapon of choice. Pain rang through the villain’s arm, but it was easily ignored by the bigger threat that took its place before him. “This little escapade wouldn’t have even started had you not decided to intervene, Batman,” he retorted as he spat the man’s name, keeping the scythe at a good distance so it was threatening, but wasn’t in the reach to be grabbed and yanked away. Although he prided himself on being able to put up a decent fight, Batman was undoubtedly the superior brute. His high-strung state made him more twitchy, ready to swing at every movement, while the knight seemed to have his nerves in check at all times. He would need to be a bit more practical with his tactics. 

Scarecrow took another swing, watching as Batman expertly evaded the move. Then, without warning, the villain pulled out the gun he had been carrying the entire trip and fired directly at the crusader. Where the bullet landed, he couldn’t say for sure, but he still grinned in triumph when the Batman grunted in well-hidden pain and took a stumble back. He didn’t take time to dwell on his hit for long. Activating the aerosol mechanism in his glove, he took a step towards the hero, swung at him with the scythe in one hand —which was avoided— and blasted him with a cloud of his toxin. Batman had been prepared, however. The Dark Knight raised the edge of his cap over his to shield himself from the toxin and quickly skirting out of its range. Taking Scarecrow’s limited reaction time and grip to his advantage, he lunged forward, grabbing the hilt of the scythe and yanking it back. The weapon was tossed behind him, skittering well outside of its owner’s reach. 

Scarecrow didn’t let this loss deter him, though, as he aimed the gun at Batman with the intent to end his life. Batman paused, taking a step back so as to decrease the accuracy if the former doctor did indeed fire. 

“You don’t want to do that Crane,” Batman told him firmly. Scarecrow just grinned, tightening his finger around the trigger. “I’m afraid the doctor is out this evening,” he replied with a dark chuckle. “I’d offer to write you in as an appointment, but I don’t believe you’ll be around to make it.” 

“I know you came here to visit your mother, Crane,” the hero stated bluntly. 

Scarecrow stopped, the grin vanishing from under his mask. “Good for you,” he sneered, trying to keep his aim on Batman, but losing focus as the Dark Knight began to circle him. “You’re upset. You’re angry,” Batman told him, attempting to reason with the doctor. “I understand how you feel.” 

“Your attempts to relate to me are pitiful,” the masked man spat, his patience wearing thin. With only a couple shots left, however, he didn’t have much room for failure. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“This is your chance to come in without a fight,” Batman continued, keeping his voice firm. “No matter what, you’re going to end up in the same place you were before. You’re in pain, I know that.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scarecrow hissed. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Put down the weapon, Crane,” Batman persisted. “We can end your grieving.” 

“Grieving?” Scarecrow laughed, raising his voice above its usual hiss. “You honestly believe I’m grieving?” He stepped towards the hero, not noticing as he pulled out a batarang from his belt. “As said before, Dark Knight, you know nothing about me. I, on the other hand, know what you are. You’re no solution; you’re part of the problem, along with every tormenter I’ve ever known. Just like them, you, too, will be forgotten when the world sees the man behind that brutal façade.” With that, he took the shot. 

Batman evaded the bullet as best he could, ending up with a graze on his left arm. Without hesitation, he threw the baratarang, the sharp metal colliding with Scarecrow’s hand and forcing him to drop the gun. The villain barely had time to react before he had a hand to his throat. He made an attempt to take a stab at him with the toxin-filled needle attached to his attire, only to drop it when he received a hard blow to the stomach. That was going to bruise later on, he was sure of it, as the pain was felt even through his high-strung state. Batman grabbed Scarecrow by his head, causing his hat to fall off. He brung terrorist’s head forward, ready to smash it back and bring him to a black out. Scarecrow closed his eyes in anticipation, muttering out swears at Batman under his breath as he knew all too well what this felt like. 

What Batman was unprepared for, however, was the feeling of metal slicing through his side. He let out a gasp of pain, letting the villain go and stumbling backwards. Scarecrow nearly crumpled to the ground, the pain in his abdomen screaming that he not move. His thin frame wasn’t meant to take such a rough strike. He didn’t have time to dwell on the pain, though, as the Hatter quickly stepped past the bleeding Bat and grabbed his friend by the wrist. Scarecrow stumbled slightly as he was dragged away and to their getaway vehicle.  

“And you tell me I can’t carry this lousy butterknife,” Hatter laughed, stopping and throwing the scythe into the back seat. Scarecrow clutched his aching stomach for a moment before bearing through the pain and standing up straight. “We can argue about this later,” he snapped, turning to look at the car. “Let’s go before the Bat recovers from his-“ 

He shouldn’t have spoken so soon. Before he could even sit down, he heard a loud slam and the familiar sound of the Hatter yelping in surprise. He didn’t even need to look to know Batman had caught up to them. With a large gash in his side that he held with one hand, he had his other fist wrapped around the Mad Hatter’s neck. With a force only Bane could posses, he threw the scientist away from the car and onto the ground. Hatter cried out in pain and surprise, shielding his face for when Batman would ultimately force him into unconsciousness. Scarecrow, who was already nursing his own pains, had only seconds to react. The thought of just leaving the madman behind crossed his mind for a moment, but it was dismissed just as quickly. Without a weapon on his person, and his scythe taking far too long to retrieve, he found he had no choice but to grab one of the glass capsules of toxin strapped to his person. Raising it up high, he threw himself in between the Dark Knight and Hatter before one could reach the other. Looking back at his associate, he let out a simple, “You’re not going to enjoy this.” He then smashed the capsule on the ground. 

Toxin burst into the air, forming a large cloud of the poisonous chemical. Batman lurched back, shielding himself with his cape to block the toxin, but it was too late; a decent amount had already invaded his lungs. 

Scarecrow was quick to haul Jervis out of the cloud’s range and to the car. The gas was barely even recognized by his body, which had reworked itself to become immune to his own creation. The same couldn’t be said for the other villain, however. He could already see the toxin’s effects by the time he had thrown him into the passenger seat and had slid himself behind the steering wheel. Quickened breathing, dilated pupils, tense muscles; his chemicals worked quickly to strike the amygdala and make the victim it’s rag doll. Still, he had no time to observe. With the car already started thanks to Tetch, Scarecrow did not delay in getting out of there at full speed. 

It was only a good minute in before the whimpering began. The masked villain ignored it, however, deciding to focus on driving while his adrenaline numbed the pain that would surely come back later to bite him at full force. “Hang in there, Hatter,” he muttered, taking the turn to head back to the town they had just come from. With Batman already knowing where they were supposed to be headed, he needed to lose his trail. “I’ll get you fixed up once we get this Bat off our scent.” 

Of course, that was a lie. They had almost nothing on them now. Having brung none of their bags along, Hatter had a few cards on him, but Scarecrow knew the rest had been in his luggage. He had his pocket watch as well, but hypnosis wouldn’t do them much good when its owner was currently having his mind terrorized. The Master of Fear himself was a bit more well off. With his scythe in the back and his toxin literally strapped to his body, the only non-necessity he had was the journal Jonathan insisted on keeping in the inner pocket of his outfit. Just navigating the road was going to be a whole different obstacle; without his reading glasses, driving would be a far more difficult, especially in the dark. Not to mention that both were in more pain than before and running on very little sleep and they couldn’t stay anywhere if they wanted to because they could easily be caught without civilian clothes. 

Taking a look over at Jervis, however, Scarecrow was assured that none of those problems were quite as bad as the predicament he had just put himself in.  

As the Hatter’s whimpering became louder, he was reminded of the fact that he didn’t have an antidote to his own toxin. 

Chapter Text

Jervis stared ahead, eyes shifting to focus on anything that would calm his rapid heartbeat. Like a caged animal, he felt trapped in the silence, knowing that when the time came, no mistakes could be made. His focus trained on the tick of the clock that seemed only exacerbate the unbearable nothing. Only few times had he felt this way before; to experience such an overwhelming well up in his chest as his mind quickly ran through every awful scenario. He could hear the little rabbits and pawns whispering to him in an attempt to discourage him, begging him to leave this place or distracting him with their banter. His breathing hitched when he finally heard that low click he had been dreading, but mixed in with that poisonous concoction of emotions, he could feel a twinge of excitement. He looked up attentively, and as the emerging figure came into view, the pounding in his chest was all he could hear. A smile came to his face naturally as he stood to face the imposing man that seemed to tower over his shorter stature. Words failed to emerge from his mouth as his own breathing failed to function. 

“Jervis Tetch?” 

The silence was broken and finally Jervis felt as though he could think clearly again. As if on autopilot, he immediately stepped forward to speak, the smile turning to a jovial grin. 

“Mr. Wayne!”  he greeted enthusiastically, shaking the broader man’s hand firmly as he had been taught, before pulling away. “How lovely it is to finally meet you in person, sir.” Bruce Wayne smiled at him, backing away to hold the door open for him. “Come in, come in,” he told the Englishman, waving him inside the office where the two were quickly seated. The office was well-decorated, that much was sure. The grand clock that hung just over a small painting ticked ever so lightly, indicating the seconds passing. “Nervous?” he chuckled, seemingly catching onto Tetch’s less than confident demeanor. “Oh, of course not,” Jervis tittered, feeling slightly less stuffy now that he was on the receiving end of the charming Mr. Wayne’s warm behavior. Deciding to clear any remaining tension, he decided to lay down a bit of honesty. “Well, maybe just a tad,” he laughed softly. “After all, I was not expecting to be interviewed by you personally.”  

Wayne waved a hand as if to brush away his fears with a smile. “Hey, don’t think of this as an interview,” he said softly. “Remember that you’ve already been confirmed for a position here at WayneTech. I just wanted to meet with you and go over a few things before we finally put you on, alright?” Jervis nodded, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves as he sat upright in his seat. “Good to hear. Let’s get started,” Bruce continued, opening a manilla folder as he began to slowly look for main talking points.  

“You have quite the impressive record,” he began with, looking up at the neuroscientist. “Raised in the little town of Beven. How is England by the way? I’ve only been a couple times.” Jervis smiled sheepishly, deciding to give the semiserious answer, “Dreadfully cloudy.” Bruce chuckled as he looked back down at the file, and with a smile he replied, “Then you should feel right at home here.” The two shared a small chuckle. His finger ran across a few lines of information. “A PhD in neuroscience, top marks, your remarkable research on-“ He paused, reading over the summary once more. “The manipulation of neural networks. Oh, you know, synapses and the like,” Jervis chimed it, grinning apologetically when the focus was back on him. Bruce didn’t seem offended by any stretch of the word, instead looking back up at Jervis with a small smile of his own. “Well it’s clear you’re more than qualified to be on our team.”  He pushed the sheet to the side, exposing some of the paper that had been obscured underneath. “There is just a few more details I would like to clear up. You are a…” His eyes flicked down to the filled-out application, each word scribbled with tight penmanship, “schizophrenic, is that right?” 

For the first time Jervis couldn’t help the reflexive twitch that met his lips. There were times he wished he could master such a stoic façade like his psychiatrist. “Hey, this isn’t any sort of attack,” Wayne spoke calmly, quickly noticing the other’s discomfort with the subject. “We just need to make sure you are getting the proper treatment. One of our main goals of the company is to ensure a safe and stable work environment. If there’s any sort of concerns or worries, we would be more than happy to accommodate you. No one will know besides you, me, and your supervisors.” Tetch let the genuine smile creep back up to his face as he quickly thanked him. 

Taking another look at the file, Wayne’s expression brightened slightly as he quickly slip a smaller bit of paper out from the stack of contents. “Oh, if you could take a look at this, we can discuss it and move forward,” he offered, giving another friendly smile as he handed it over. Jervis returned it, gladly taking the slip and placing it before him. It took a few seconds, but he was able to slowly piece together just what he was looking. His brow furrowed as he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing emerged. Even the little voices in his head had silenced themselves for once, as if becoming reserved for the sole purpose of letting him experience this moment with full clarity. 

What he thought had been a simple form turned out to be a printed photo. Canvased there was police tape surrounding a young, fair-haired woman in a pretty blue dress, both of which were tainted by the dark stains of blood that spilled from the tear in her stomach. A face frozen in horror with hair entangled, messily cut, and bloodied, the sight was appalling. That was somebody’s daughter; a young woman with her life tragically cut short. 

Jervis felt his stomach drop and his chest tightened. The ticking of that clock grew even louder in his ears as the rest of the world was drowned out. A wave of nausea hit him as he tore his eyes away from the picture, looking up at Wayne with an apologetic smile, silently screaming for some sort of explanation. “I…” he began, his voice weak and small, as he felt his vision blur. “I… don’t understand…” Bruce Wayne seemed unfazed, nodding understandingly as he quickly retrieved a few more similar photos and gently placed them before the frightened smaller man. “Perhaps these might provide some context.”  

Each photo held a different body, each one dressed as though they were apart of some bizarre fantasy. Bludgeoned and sliced, the victims caused a bit of bile to rise to Tetch’s chest as he actively tried to blink the tears away. His heart raced as he felt a cold, numbing chill run through him.  

“Jervis?” His gaze snapped up to meet the other’s, his breathing hitched as he tried to force any sort of reply out of his own mouth. “Jervis,” Wayne repeated, snapping his fingers repeatedly and causing Tetch jerk back suddenly. “Tetch, can you hear me?” Jervis stared, shaking his head as he suddenly got up from his seat. Bruce did the same, as if to protest, but Tetch quickly held up a cautious hand. “I-I’m terribly sorry, but I… I need to leave,” he hurriedly turned and exited the room. A scream left his mouth when his feet failed to land and he plummeted down.  

Down down down. 

Down the rabbit hole. 

… 

.. 

. 

“Jervis?” 

. 

“Can you hear me?” 

.. 

“You are going to be alright.” 

… 

Crane hesitated, gently touching a gloved hand to Jervis’ shoulder, watching him jerk back and curl deeper into a ball as expected. No reassurance could be had under the toxin, Crane had to remind himself, and t was a fact he knew all too well after being put under his own gas a great number of times. No matter what, those demons would continue to surface. He looked down at his own covered hand in slight surprise of himself; he had never before tried to comfort a patient of his. Of course, there had been the scarce disingenuous taunting calming taunt, but this was different. Tetch was different. At least that’s what he tried to tell himself. It took him longer than it should have to realize his other hand was still on the other’s shoulder, taking in just how rigid he was with crippling fear.  

Looking away, he took in a deep breath of air just to try and calm his nerves. The stuffy nature of the burlap was messing with his head. His fingers grazed the keys, twitching as he urged himself to start the engine and get off the side of the road. He was unable to tear his mind away from it, however, and so his eyes drifted back over to the victim of his toxin. “I’ve seen him like this before,” the good doctor muttered, as if trying to convince himself that the excitement that welled in his chest was somehow inherently abhorrent. Could he truly blame himself? Fear was never exactly a guilty pleasure when it came to the world knowing of his profession, but the smile that stretched his face almost hurt. Yes, Jervis certainly was different; as a soul trapped in his own hallucinations, the toxin would have a particularly negative effect on his mind, subjecting him to far stronger delusions than all of the Scarecrow’s previous patients. It made him all the more fascinating; a case study that needed to be examined from all possible angles. The Englishman’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated as he was tortured by his own unsound visions. No doubt that as norepinephrine upped his heart rate and shortened his breathing to fuel the rigid tension his own body was trapped in, his mind was encoding each detail of his own dreams to later recall with a clarity that would haunt him for months. At this moment he was truly at the mercy of his own body, the amygdala making this weak shell its rag doll.  

“I wonder what you see in that head of yours… To see what you are truly afraid of,” Crane spoke softly under the mask. Staring down at his partner in crime, he forced the grin to fade. “No I don’t,” he said firmly to himself, placing his hand on the wheel of the stopped car, he twisted the key to bring the engine to life. Disappointment consumed him as the roar of the car momentarily broke the Englishman’s distressed breathing. A sudden desire consumed him, and within the passing minutes he simply sat in the activated car, battling himself. He didn’t wonder; he never wondered; he craved to know, and once again, his will snapped in submission to his vices, and he found himself shutting the car off. A startled cry emitted from his patient as Jonathan turned him slightly and pressed his ear to his back. The sound of blood pumping through an overworked heart quickly met his ears; the sound of norepinephrine working a futile attempt to ready a man to run. How cruel the body was, forcing its victim instead to a catatonic state where he could easily be preyed upon. Each rapid thump worked to stimulate Scarecrow’s obsessive desires, and after a full minute, he was able to pull himself away. His hand once again met the keys, but once again stopped just short of twisting them in place. His focus remained on the hatter, noticing for the first time the tears that ran down the man’s face. How… odd. Screaming usually came before the crying, making Jervis here a bit of an anomaly in his eyes. A hand unconsciously reached down to the various vials that were strapped to his chest, fingering a syringe loaded with his toxin. Jervis did get quite the dosage, he thought. He would surely be out of it as soon as the toxin would begin to fade from his system, making him potentially dangerous under his delusions. So why not take the extra step ahead and put him under for a while with another dose? Just until they got back to Gotham, where he could dump the smaller man. He just needed to inject enough until he could finally hear him scream. 

Jonathan stopped himself just before he could push the needle into the other’s arm, blinking in surprise at his own actions. The grin fell from his face as he forced himself out of the car, tearing off his mask just take a few deep breaths. Jervis may have been the schizophrenic on fear gas, but it was Jonathan who felt he himself was out of control. He sat on the side of the road, running a hand through red hair as he took the time he had just to get away from himself as he laid the mask by his side. He collected himself, trying to ease the tension from his body and wait for his adrenaline high from their battle with the Dark Knight finally fade. For the first time in what must have been months, he found himself reverting back to his old techniques as a psychiatrist to calm himself down. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, feeling the ground underneath him. He shut out the dark thoughts to listen to the crickets on the side of the road, as well as his own breathing. He felt the burlap that partially made up his costume and felt the gentle breeze that had decided to make an appearance at the time. He put a hand to his chest to listen to his own heartbeat, becoming in tune with its rhythm. He opened his eyes to make himself aware of the field of grass, only just barely lit by the white shine of moonlight. He looked down at the grass, taking in how each long blade moved individually of each other, creating waves like the ocean with each gust of wind. With that came the aching pains in his body that decided to crawl back into his senses. His stomach would certainly be bruised within a few hours and his neck would likely have the dark marks of a tight grasp around his neck. He could now feel a certain wetness around his shoulder, and when he felt the sharp sting of pain when he outstretched his arm, it confirmed that the bullet wound was once again gushing with blood and the bandages needed to be redone. Still, the pain brought a sense of comprehension of the situation around him. He no longer felt that excitement he did when inside the car with Jervis, and although he would surely feel the remnants of his vices, the grounding technique more than helped him. “I never thought I would need to do that again,” he muttered to himself, coming to a stand after grabbing his mask. He let out a pained gasp as suddenly all of the well-placed hits and slams came at him in full force. He stumbled some, now finding even breathing to be a painful endeavor. Still, he fought through it, standing up the best he could and getting back into the front seat. He took a few moments to collect himself, resting his head on the steering wheel as he thought back to everything that had happened, feeling this overwhelming sense of exhaustion as all he wanted to do was rest. He unconsciously reached for his hat to place upon his head, before realizing it was completely gone. He had an “oh yeah” moment as he remembered it had been left with Batman. A bit of a first-world problem when compared to everything else, but it still filled him with a twinge of annoyance and frustration as his problems just kept piling up. As Jervis had mentioned before, all he just wanted to murder his problems away. 

Starting the car, he took the time to collect himself once again as he looked down at Tetch. He was almost ashamed at the level of restraint he had produced as he was submissive to his own dark thoughts. Although, why should he deny himself in a time such as this? It wasn’t like he would get this opportunity again in the near future. He shook his head to mentally scold himself; of course there was a reason why. Jervis was a schizophrenic in the middle of an episode, forced to face his own fears in the confines of his own mind for what could potentially be from hours to even days depending on how much he breathed in. A full canister, like the one he had smashed, would last an eternity if fully ingested into the body, but Crane was unable to tell just how much the Hatter had breathed in before he was lugged out. One thing was certain, however: the gas could potentially break Tetch’s mind, leaving him in a state Crane was all too familiar with for only God knows how long. He needed to get Jervis somewhere safe and secure so he could properly treat him; somewhere they would be undisturbed and where Jervis could scream his lungs out if he needed to. He swallowed thickly, sparing one more glance towards the fair-haired milliner before finally putting the car in drive. He paused to reach back to grab his bag for his phone, only to remember they had failed to retrieve them before they had left. He let out a small shout of frustration, slamming his hand on the horn. Jervis cried out at the noise, whimpers quickly turning to growing sobs. Jonathan rubbed his eyes tiredly, cursing himself for his lack of restraint as he considered their missing things. A phone would have been nice to at least contact Nygma; his expertise would have been more than helpful in finding a place they could stay. He thought for a second to consider all other options, before his mind suddenly came to a conclusion. He knew just where to hide. 

“Hang in there, Hatter,” Jonathan said softly, beginning to drive. “I’ll help you.” He took in a deep inhale, letting it out slowly as his eyes strained to see the coming road signs. His mind only flickered to Jervis once before coming back to concentration. “Just like I was always supposed to.” 

… 

.. 

. 

.. 

… 

Jervis slammed against the wet ground with a splat, pain shooting through his body like waves. He let out a soft groan, placing his palms down onto the ground, past the inch layer of warm black liquid. He pushed himself up and onto his feet, watching his hands return to him covered in the liquid’s true color of viscera red. He covered his mouth with his sleeve, wanting to vomit on reflex. The liquid had splattered onto the side of his body and had even gotten into his hair, painting the blonde with streaks if sickening crimson. Attempting to down the nausea, he forced his gaze to scan around the room he had found himself in. His fall had dropped him in the middle of a vast corridor. The floor, which he realized was made of tile from its hers texture, was hidden under an inch-thick layer of blood, the amount being so plentiful he had previously mistaken the liquid for being black. The walls, while made of dirt quite like the inside of a mining tunnel, seemed to swirl in a variety of blended colors. Certain discolorations vividly formed a variety of images. Images like a young woman in a cat-like outfit speaking down to a rather large man dressed as a bat; a clown ordering the execution of a couple jester cards, a scarecrow trying to shove a man dressed in green into a far-too-small teapot. Too disturbed to extract any sort of humor or morbid interest from the images, he looked towards the end of the corridor. The end was lit brightly, the white shine only reaching far enough to leave Jervis in shadow. Thinking only for a moment, his thoughts racing just as fast as his heart, he gathered up his courage and began to move through the muck, his feet moving to the ticking in his ears. 

More images were burned into dirt walls, which themselves began to slowly harden to stone and finally tile as he moved further into the light. Paintings of tea parties and chess pieces and monsters. Further in and he found his first news article clipping. He paused looking down at the excerpt with light confusion when he noticed it pasted to the tile. He frowned, his eyes carefully tracing the printed words. 

Mad Hatter Caught! Four Dead .  

Jervis felt a cold drop in his chest. The sight of a crazed man receiving his mugshot without a care in the world served to only further distance Tetch from the photo. He stepped away, denial forming in his mind as he broke his gaze away from the clipping. He forced himself to continue down the path, silently praying for an end to this vicious nightmare. As he looked forward, however, he only noticed more of the dreadful memories.  

All Victims Rescued from Latest Hatter Plot!  

Missing Alice Found Mutilated; Hatter Suspected.  

Famil y   Grieves Over Loss of Daughter.  

Three Officers Slain  by Mad Hatter.  

Former  Hatter  Victims Still in Therapy.  

He forced his eyes away from the walls, and to the sickening river he was forced to trudge through. As he went on, the blood beneath him began to thin, but the number of articles pasted lopsidedly onto the walls only began to grow. He tried his damndest to pay no attention, keeping his gaze down to stare at blood-soaked feet. Soon enough the only blood under his feet were in the shoe prints he left behind and in the light drips of blood that leaked from his stained clothes. As the room progressively became consumed in layers of gray and black, the only sort of color was the trail of crimson he left with each further step. 

“Breaking tonight-“ 

Jervis jerked forward, looking around wildly for the source of the voice that had broken the silence. He could find no such person. 

“Jervis Tetch, also known as the Mad Hatter, has been confirmed to have been responsible for the deaths of upwards of twenty people in the last week. Sources say he is currently traveling with known partner in crime, Jonathan Crane; better known as the Scarecrow.” 

The voice was firm and professional; the kind you would find pleasant directing a news show or a daily report. However, there was no owner to the voice to be found as the words just seemed spoken directly into his head, much to his horror. 

“A subject very much up for debate: should Jervis Tetch be eligible for the death penalty? Or will the insanity plea save him from another strike from Justice’s hammer?” 

Another voice rang out, this one only slightly different save for the tone they spoke with. His immediate thought was to find some sort of TV, but he was only surrounded by the articles. Breathing heavily, his arms hugging his own body in an attempt to comfort himself, he silently trudged forward as he was forced to hear them speak their untruths more and more. 

“An update to the Jervis Tetch case: sources say the victims themselves will be unable to testify in court due to their own questionable ability to stand trial due to their trauma.” 

“While only having the eighteenth highest death count among some of the more notorious villains, viewers are claiming he should be placed higher on the list based solely on trauma alone.” 

Jervis covered his ears, hoping to somehow block the voices out from his head, but they never quieted. They just seemed to be played directly into his skull, along with that unsyncopated rhythm of the clock ticking. 

“A family continues to grieve over the loss of their twenty year old daughter, Alice Foster.” 

“Another escape with schizophrenic mastermind, Jervis Tetch. Police are urging families to lock their doors.” 

“A young man has committed suicide after losing his mother to the Mad Hatter.” 

“A local psychiatrist and Gotham University professor gains backlash when last Monday his assistant, young interns Alice Merriam, went missing and he’s failed to produce the records for his own patients, many of whom are now suspect in the disappearance.” 

“Arkham Asylum employees are advocating for harsher punishments and more restraints to patients’ beds after a doctor has died due to a sharp stab to the brain caused by Jervis Tetch.” 

“After a breakout in Arkham Asylum, many fear villains like the Mad Hatter, who is one of the few to have not been caught yet. Without any solid leads of where he’s at, many wonder not if, but when.” 

The voices kept speaking, only growing louder and overlapping as he simply tried to block them out, only with no success. He felt his knees grow weak as he slumped back against the wall, sliding down and leaving a large smudge of red. The voices became like static; white noise so overbearing and loud but still so clear in what they were saying that he couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes. The corridor was simply plastered with grays and blacks save for the blood trail that led directly to him, no matter how hard he tried to shake it off. He sat on the red-stained floor, ears covered and eyes blearily clenched as he silently prayed for an end. All he wanted to do was crawl in a hole and wait to die. 

… 

.. 

. 

.. 

… 

The morning had set in by the time the car arrived to its destination. He couldn’t be more thankful, his tired eyes having difficulty even deciphering what he had been seeing on the roads in the darkness, even with the bright headlights. He had made more than a few wrong turns because of it, and while yes it wasted time, it more than helped in losing the trail of the bat. He could not only thank his eyesight, but the assistance of Jervis’ sobbing to help distract him; it had become a real annoyance just before it had quieted back down to whimpering a couple hours before. He took a deep breath and smacked his arms to keep himself awake as they were finally back at the large, decrepit house that had caused him to many nightmares in his youth. He couldn’t help but stare up at it as he approached, unable to tear his eyes or thoughts away as it captivated him. His heart rate remained steady as he pulled into the road that lead directly to the house itself. He thought about taking a shortcut straight through the cornfield through sheer impatience, but the last thing he needed was a path leading straight to him. Jonathan made sure to bring the car up behind the house to ensure it wouldn’t be seen by passersby. He shut the car off, taking off his gloves and throwing them carelessly in the backseat. Without hesitation, he went about opening the glove compartment to search for what he needed. He stopped when he pulled out a rather large bag of peanuts from the compartment. He had to stop to consider it for just a few seconds. He looked over the hefty bag for a few moments before quickly placing it on the dashboard for later use and getting back to looking for what he really needed. “Come on… she has to have a few,” Crane murmured to himself, holding his breath as his hands roamed the inside of the glove compartment. When he found a red pen, he initially thought nothing of it, until he looked back at Jervis. “I’m going to need that,” he told himself, tucking it away before continuing to look. Papers, files, tissues, a water bottle, more paper- 

“Bingo,” he whispered, feeling the thin metal bobby pins slide between his fingers. Grabbing hold of them, he made sure to lock the doors as he exited the car, just on the of chance Jervis emerged from his delusions just enough to figure out how to get out he door. He could think of no worse feeling than to come back and just see Tetch gone, knowing he’d have to go through the hassle of searching for him. 

Jonathan let out a soft groan to vocalize his pain, the aching in his stomach, neck, and arm near unbearable. Even still, he’d been through far worse; all he needed to do was grit his teeth and fight through it. He felt a well of disgust flood him upon returning, but different from that uncomfortable tightness that had clenched his chest the day before. Grimacing to himself, he approached the door of the old home and bent down to the lock, only to be surprised to see the door was broken. Not illogical; like the chapel, his “home” was probably vandalized all to hell as well. He scoffed, coming to a stand and entering.  

Most of anything that could be taken was taken. Valuables and any sort of décor his grandmother had favored had been cleared out well in advance. He even noticed his old childhood toys were missing as well. He wasn’t perturbed, more just annoyed by the nature of humans and their need to pick clean the world like vultures. The house was completely bare, save for crude writings on the wall and when he went to his old room he noticed the overly dirtied hardwood floor. At this point his distaste turned to bewilderment. “Did someone arrange a séance in here?” he said incredulously to no one. It was odd, yes, but he could see a minute bit of sense to be found; while he was in no way associated with spirits or demons of any kind, he supposed Halloween was close enough and some people would take what they could get. Had he been anyone else he would have found humor in the idea, but at the moment he could only feel contempt.  

Searching around, he was relieved to finally find that the worn, moth-eaten bed of his grandmother. Makes sense; only the moths would want that sort of garbage. The blankets were still removed and the bed looked ready to fall apart, but he was never a picky person in terms of comfort and he didn’t quite believe Jervis would, either. He made sure to prop the door open, looking around the house until he found an old shabby chair for himself.  

Upon preparing the room, he walked back outside carefully, being sure not to cause too much pain to himself. He wouldn’t be able to stand another fight with the Dark Knight, that much was certain. Unlike imposing figures such as Bane or Croc, he wasn’t built to take such strikes and still move afterwards. He told himself he only needed to get Jervis in and then he could rest. He let out a shuddering breath, feeling stuffy under the confines of his lightweight outfit and the rising heat of the sun. Lord knows how hot it gets in the south this time of year; it certainly wasn’t an aspect he missed, that much was for sure.  

Unlocking the car, he looked at the man in the passenger seat with indifference. Tears streamed down and yet he could only feel the strained residue that could be called remorse. “Jervis,” he said soothingly, keeping his voice to a steady and formal. Tetch unintentionally twitched in an indication he had heard. The doctor smiled softly, as if Jervis could actually see him. “It’s Jonathan. Remember?” He brung a slow hand to gently grab his arm, feeling him tense and his breathing hitch. “You can trust me.” It took a few second, but he felt that tension begin to melt only by a minuscule amount. “You can trust me.” With slow, deliberate movements, he slowly began to pull Jervis from the car. The man once again tensed up further, refusing to budge. Crane frowned deeply, not being in the state to remove Jervis manually. He let out a huff, gently grabbing Hatter’s gloved hand instead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said smoothly. “I’m here to help you, remember? That’s why you came to me.” Jervis’ muscles slowly loosened. “You can trust me.” Slowly Jonathan was able to pull the other out of the car, the man moving of his own accord as he gently tugged on his hand to guide him. Jonathan smiled softly and pat the back of Jervis’ hand. Annoying and time-consuming, yes, but at least he was able to be removed from the car. He stood outside the car, legs tugged in and his coat pulled in tightly as he clenched the lapels of his own coat with a thousand yard tear-filled stare. He clearly wasn’t within reality at the moment, but Jonathan would work with what he had. They both took slow steps, with Jonathan reminding Jervis that he was in a safe space. He felt almost ashamed of reverting back to old ways, but different people needed different kinds of approach. Tetch was at least cognizant of his steps, being able to elevate himself up steps without much trouble. Crane led him to the bed, being sure to help him lay down so discomfort wouldn’t be an added strain on their session. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again after all this time,” Jonathan sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, breaking that doctor’s mask for a few moments. He pulled up his chair and took the time to breathe deeply and compose himself. “It’s been years since I’ve… since we’ve done this, but I’ll give it a go.” 

Getting himself comfortable, Crane leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. He noticed Jervis’ rigid frame and how the tears were once again beginning to turn to sobs. Slowing his breathing, he knitted his fingers in his lap and brought his voice down to a steady, calm articulation. “Jervis… can you hear me?” There was no response, he raised his voice just a bit louder. “Can you hear me?” 

… 

.. 

. 

.. 

… 

“Can you hear me?” 

It took what felt like a few minutes, but Jervis finally realized the barrage of noises had finally quit their assault. That ticking had only grown louder, however, and almost seemed to be planted right next to his spot. Bringing his hands away from his ears to wipe away bleary eyes, he looked around his surroundings. Chessboard grass and twisting trees in a variety of impossible colors decorated the landscape, paired with an unreasonably pink sky and blue clouds. His eyes trained on the table he sat at; a table great in length with chairs tucked neatly on each side. A metronome was seated on the table right next to his seat, the pendulum passing the hook once a second to create that loud ticking. Cups, teapots, plates, and bread with butter, it was almost a shame no one was there to populate the tea party. Well, almost no one.  

He looked up to see them. Voices, the lot of them. A cheshire cat, the Duchess, the Queen of Hearts herself, that blasted white rabbit that lead him down the rabbit hole, a March Hare and Dormouse (not the March Hare and Dormouse), the Tweedle boys, the lion and the unicorn; every voice that voiced their ugly thoughts was there, their voices prominent but not ever rising above the rhythmic instrument at his end of the table. Their eyes watched him, but his own were drawn to the lone man seated at the opposite end of the table, who slowly poured himself a cup of tea. The Mad Hatter, dressed in an outfit of green, waited until his tea was full before deciding to add a lump of sugar and slowly stir the sweetener in. With closed eyes, he continued to stir the tea, a calm smile on his face until the sugar had completely dissolved into the drink. A bright smile came to his face, he tapped the spoon against the lip of the cup to rid the utensil of any remaining liquid, set it to the side, and lifted the warm cup with both hands. As he took a sip, only then did his eyes peer from under the rim of his hat to peer up at the guest at the opposite end of his table. “Good evening,” he smiled in an unruffled manner, setting the cup down and clasping gloved hands together. The voices quieted immediately to let him speak. “And a happy unbirthday to you.” 

Jervis said not a word, that sickness in his stomach only expanding as he was forced to share a seat at the table with this man and every ugly voice that had brought about such madness in the first place. Hatter frowned, his expression souring at his silence. “Oh, don’t you want to talk?” he inquired, prodding Jervis to speak up. “I have nothing to say to you,” he whispered, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he dismissed the urge to push away and simply leave. He felt uncomfortable with so many silent eyes on him. The other, however, paid them no mind. “Don’t you mean you haven’t any intention in speaking to me?” Hatter corrected, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Same thing,” Jervis replied curtly as he once again used a sleeve to dry his eyes. Disgust flooded him when he realized he was only creating a greater mess by using the soiled red sleeve. “Oh no no no,” Mad Hatter denied with a rapid shake of his head as leaned back into his armchair. “Certainly not! You could speak up a variety of things! Should you say you have nothing to say, you’re implying you know no words.” He paused, giggling to himself. The rest of the table laughed along madly, but quieted down with a raise of his hand. “Knowing no nothings; now that sound quite like one of the Dormouse’s little stories.” He sipped his tea once more before continuing. “Now now, about your slip-up, saying that not wanting to talk is the same as having nothing to say is quite like saying you’re not hungry is the same as not needing to eat. That you’re not sleepy is the same as not ever sleeping! Quite like saying…” he let his eyes wander for a moment, listening to the sudden onslaught of suggestion from the voices, before letting them rest back on Jervis, “like saying that the Mad Hatter is Jervis Tetch is the same as claiming that Jervis Tetch is the Mad Hatter.” 

“I’m not you,” Jervis replied, perturbed by the fanciful expression crossed over the other’s visage. Thoughts of just leaving never even crossed his mind at this point. “You’re insane.” Hatter looked bored with the statement, deciding to add another lump of sugar to his tea and stir it nonchalantly. “And I suppose you’re not, my dear.” He sipped his tea, not taking his gaze off of Jervis. “But I believe you’re right. We’re not the same. I’m the insane one, you’re the schizophrenic. I’m a monster, you’re a victim of your own mind. They hate me, they pity you.” He paused to bring the cup to his lips, taking another sip. “I’m happy with who I am. You… well, that’s debatable, isn’t it?” A smile crossed his features as he set his cup down, knitting his fingers together. “No… in fact I’d say you’re happier than you’ve been since you were a boy, isn’t that right?” Jervis stayed silent, his hands gripping the edges of his armchair. Hatter propped up his chin on his palm. “Everyone hates you. You’ve lost friends, family, freedom even, and a promising career,” he said wistfully, “but it’s all worth it, isn’t it? I mean, without all this you’d still be that foreigner in his apartment cutting his wrists because he can’t appreciate everything he has before him.”  

Jervis looked away, his gaze trailing downwards. Hatter took his silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “I’ve never quite liked society and their lines,” he hummed, “always wondering where to draw them. Enough lines to dot the roads of Gotham, I tell you.” “I mean, let’s be honest, shall we? Do you really believe everyone in Gotham would bawl their eyes and curl up like infants if you just…” He waved a hand, two fingers coming together and pressing against his own head, tipping them back quickly, “offed yourself?” Jervis blinked away bleary eyes, turning his head. “Oh come now, don’t give me those eyes,” Hatter scolded softly. “You haven’t the slightest passing thoughts about it? Your mum, your sister, your coworkers…” He stopped himself, flicking his eyes to a nonsensical sky. “A rather mimsy subject if you ask me. I’d rather not think about such trifles.” “There’s no point,” Tetch agreed, rubbing a thumb over thin white lines that knit together what would have been an otherwise flawless canvas. “Then why find the point in pointlessness?” Hatter asked, deciding to butter some bread as he conversed. Tetch looked up, brow furrowed as he decided to let the other continue talking. Hatta peeked at him from under the rim of hat, frowning in a way that could only really be described as contemptuous. “Nothing? Not surprising. You always were one willing to take quite the beating.” He waved a hand grandly, only to gesture to himself in the end. “Even if were to be from yourself! After all, you would think, with how many times you are forced on those pills and given those shocks and locked in those rooms that we would have these conversations more often!” He smiled softly, setting the bread down to fold his hands on the table. “Oh I’m sure you know the drill by now. You’ve had it with yourself a thousand times.” He paused, taking a moment to grab his tea and down it with one swift chug. Setting the cup down, he cleared his throat, his gaze meeting Jervis’. Sitting back, he took a deep breath.  

“Why are you still here?” He started off, taking Tetch by slight surprise. The man opened his mouth to comment, but he was swiftly cut off. Giggles rose from the crowd of guests. “What? You think Jonathan actually likes you? Cares about you? Nygma and all the others?” He took a moment to scoff, which slowly turned to an uproarious laugh. Cackling and laughter came from the rest of the voices, and yet Hatta’s rose above them all in an incredulous laughing spat. “Harley, Harvey, Batman, Robin, Alice, Mother, Father, Peyton? You think they actually care about you? They pity you, you absolute dolt. You honestly think they would give an ounce of care if you just reopened those cuts right now? God, of course not. Jonathan nearly killed you, he hates you, because you’re nothing but dead weight, just like you were with your parents and you are with every taxpaying citizen of this God-forsaken country. You’re… a burden. That’s why everything you do goes to mush, because you have and always will be undeserving. A fluke; you always will be. You think you’re happy with how you are now; with who you are? You and I both know you can’t be happy. You’ll never be happy. We both know every time you hold a gun in your hands that you should just take the barrel of that gun and lay it just under your chin blow your own brains out. I’m quite surprised you even bother to get out of bed at all; if you hung yourself in your cell, I highly doubt the guards would feel anything but the annoyance that they have to now clean your dead body from your cell.” He waved a hand, slumping back into his chair as the laughter died down as if it was to somehow end his entire ramble. Jervis could barely listen over his own choked sobs, only bloodying his face up as he angrily wiped away tears. “Hey now, let’s look on the bright side; at least you see the world as it really is. Broken, useless, rife with corruption and destined for an eventual end. At least you understand yourself; if you killed yourself right now, no one could be bothered to care.” He frowned at Jervis. “You’ve always known it was true. So why are you crying about it?” 

Jervis said nothing, his face red as he couldn’t help his own tears. He just looked at the metronome, watching the pendulum pass the hook every second to count every moment of wasted time. 

… 

.. 

. 

“Hey.” 

Jervis looked up, confused. 

“Can you hear me?” 

He felt no point in even listening, just agreeing along with a careless shake of his head. 

“I believe it’s time we started our session.” 

. 

.. 

… 

“This will just be like old times,” Jonathan sighed, closing his eyes slowly. “Remember that? It feels like only yesterday now.” He cracked open an eyes, watching Jervis nod without much expression elsewhere. He took in slow breaths as he closed his vision once more, a steady smile drawing over his face. The steady breathing made Tetch feel a bit more calm, allowing him to follow his lead in an attempt to unsuccessfully calm his own lungs. Jonathan opened his eyes and made eye-contact with his patient, not knowing if he could really see him. “Tell me… how do you feel?” 

Jervis was silent for a solid twenty seconds. “Like the Mock Turtle,” he croaked out, his voice barely rising above a whisper. “Akin to being this… fake of what I once was. If you want to know the truth, I feel absolutely absolutely dreadful.” Jonathan nodded understandingly. “Dreadful, is that right? Why is that?” Jervis let the tears leak from his eyes as he stared directly at Jonathan, looking almost as emotionless as the doctor himself was. “Very dreadful,” he confirmed. “I feel as though… I don’t belong in my own world anymore. Nothing makes sense. My head feels quite frazzled and to be quite honest I don’t like this feeling.” He swallowed thickly. “I…I do things.”  

“Go on,” Crane encouraged softly. “I don’t mean to hurt people,” Jervis finished softly, “but sometimes I don’t understand the things I do. And sometimes, when I look back, I get frightened.” 

“Of your actions?” Jonathan prodded. 

“Of what I am,” Jervis whispered, eyes widening slightly. He was plagued by urges to just hurt himself in any way possible. “The turtle would not like the mock turtle, that much I will tell you. He looks at what I’ve done and he… doesn’t understand. He’s disgusted and scared and that scares me.” He clutched his wrist and dug his nails in as some silent form of comfort. “And… I feel like it’s all pointless. Why bother? I live a lie each and every day and despite the people pushing their pills it’s one I continue to believe. I’m not happy… I’m just living these god damn hallucinations and each day somehow that gets me the strength to wake up again.” He let out a shrill titter. “How pathetic is that? I sell myself this incredulous reality because I’m afraid it’s the only way I’ll ever be happy!” 

“Fear…” Jonathan murmured, closing his eyes. “Tell me… what scares you the most? What do you see?” Jervis choked on a particularly loud sob that had lodged in his throat. “I-I’m scared that… one day, I’ll wake up, and everything I used to believe will be gone.” He laughed madly, covering his eyes. “That I’ll be ‘cured’ of this life, and when I look back at what I’ve done, I won’t like what I see.” He giggled to himself, shaking. “That I’ll look at myself through the eyes of the man I once was, and I’ll fall. I’ll fall and I’ll fall and I’ll fall and I’ll fall down down down down into that rabbit hole I could never escape from before. I’ll remember all those dark ugly thoughts I don’t quite care to remember. And I’m scared to fall, I really am, because I know that once I do I don’t think I’ll ever get back up again. If I see what I am I won’t be able to take it, because I know despite the delusions and the voices and the adventures and all your lies and façades that I… I’m just a monster. I was never meant to be happy, and that I am just one giant worthless fool who dresses up as a fictional character just to extract some level of happiness.” He let out a shuddering sob. “I’m scared of that, and I never ever want to feel like that. I’m scared because I know it’s true. I’m afraid because I know that it’s going to happen one day. They’ll cure me and I’ll be stuck deep in the rabbit hole. I’m frightful because I know that the entire world wants me in there because they know everyone, everyone would be so much happier if I just ceased to exist, and I know they’re right.” 

“Your fear is making your terrors a reality,” Jonathan said calmly, pulling out the red pen he had found earlier. He gently reached forward and grabbed Jervis’ hand, squeezing it slightly to let him know he was there. “These are fears you’ve buried deep inside you, forcing yourself not to consider them, only giving them more power. However, if you learn to work through these fears, they lose the strength they once had, little by little. It’s all about facing your own fears.” Jervis uncovered his eyes, slowly looking up at Jonathan silently. “How do you feel now? Do you feel like hurting yourself?” Jervis nodded without hesitation, rubbing his wrists. “You’re afraid of the happiness and ideals of others. You believe that your past actions have somehow contaminated you; polluted the man you are, only fueling your fear of seeing yourself through the eyes of the repressed man you once were. You just need to work through this,” Crane smiled, showing him the pen. Tetch stared, but Jonathan urged him to take it. The Hatter slowly took it, playing with the cap until it popped off. “Now I want you to take that pen and I want you to draw where you want to hurt yourself.” Jervis looked up at Crane bewilderingly, but the doctor remained calm. “Trust me. Go ahead. No need to feel ashamed.” 

Slowly Hatter worked down his sleeves, exposing the thin sharp lines that ran across the inside of his arms. His face showed utter disgust, and without hesitation he began to mark over the inside of his forearms, each parallel line occasionally broken by a thin cut upwards, marking a majority of his skin with red. Slowly, however, those intrusive thoughts began to calm as he felt a release through the exercise. “Fear seeps into your unconsciousness. Infects it like a virus hardwiring you to fail. However, not all terrors are meant to pop out at you in the night. Your fears are what keep you from being happy,” Jonathan concluded, “and if you ask me, fear should never be an excuse for forcing yourself away from being who you are.” After a good ten minutes, Jervis had started on the other arm. “Feeling better?” Jonathan asked softly, to which Jervis smiled and nodded, closing his eyes as he made another mark. The tears had stopped flowing; whether it was because of free will or the fact that he was all dried up, Jonathan could not say. “Good,” Crane nodded. “Now I want you to listen to me… and together we’ll try to dispel those fears together, even if it’s just for the meantime. Are you up for a bit more talking?” 

Jervis nodded slowly, capping the pen and setting it down. His eyes remained closed as he listened intently. 

… 

.. 

. 

.. 

... 

Jervis watched the metronome beat back and forth, listening to every tick with this growing sense of emptiness; a feeling that seemed to only indicate this seed of existentialism that somehow buried itself deep in his soul and wouldn’t come out. He figured then that he quite did not like that feeling. Taking a finger and landing it on the tip of the pendulum, thus stopping it in its tracks. Hatter’s smile faded at the sudden interruption, looking up from his newly poured cup of tea. All of the voices were gone, seemingly having left the tea party for no good reason. Jervis had wet streaks down his face that he had given up on attempting to hide, but had altogether stopped his grief then and there. The smile quickly returned to the milliner as he gestured to the metronome. “Well now, would you like some wine, my de-“ 

“Oh hush up,” Jervis snapped, once again catching the other of guard. Hatter shut his mouth, brow furrowed. Tetch grabbed a tea pot on his and and deciding to pour himself a cup. “Now, I am going to share a rather unpopular opinion with you, and I frankly could not bother if you minded.” He looked up at Hatter, taking in a deep breath and folding his hands on the table. “It’s not that I don’t care,” he started, “but more of the fact that it doesn’t affect me.” He cleared his throat, not taking his eyes off the counterpart. “It took me… a very long time, but it wasn’t until I became the Mad Hatter that I realized that I could be happy. The only thing that was stopping me was my fears… my fears of embracing myself and letting the world see who I truly am. However, being the Mad Hatter isn’t what makes me happy. Its this… sense that for the first time in my life, I’m not being smothered under a pillow by a world that thinks there’s something wrong with me. And yes, maybe there is something wrong with me, but after a couple decades of hearing that pounded into my head by, ahem, ‘friends’ and ‘family’, it’s only lead me to realize that… well, if I’m so…” 

“Inhumane?” Hatter suggested with a sly smile. “Inhuman,” Jervis corrected, “then why am I even trying to blend in with a society that hates and fears me and, in return, forces me to fear them?” His stare morphed into a glare as he continued to talk. “It wasn’t until I was locked in Arkham for the first time that I finally came to the decision that I wasn’t going to even try to live in their own world, and I certainly am not going to sit here and listen to you, and all the other voices in my head, tell me about all the things I hate about myself.” He shifted in his seat, leaning back against the cushion. “I have spent… over a decade fighting with you, and right now that I finally have the upper hand, I’m never going to let you control my life again.” The smile he shared was a painful, but hopeful one. “The world I see every day may be fictional, and the voices I hear may just be my mind turning against the poor Hatter, but let me tell you that it’s far better than whatever falsehood you had me believing all my life. And you can put that in your tea and drink it.” 

There was only silence in that moment, letting his word hang in the air to ponder and to take and do with as he pleased. His dark thoughts stared, but said nothing. Then, with a shrug, the other party got up, and promptly left the tea party. Jervis watched him leave, his hands cupped around his untouched tea. It would be a shame for such perfectly good tea to go to waste. He thought it not odd that the tea was now sitting in a small styrofoam cup instead of the usual ceramic one. In his world all of that was perfectly normal; different teas belonged in different cups, he supposed. Smiling and realizing how thirsty he was, he slowly sipped the tea, enjoying its warmth. 

“Enjoying your tea, Mr. Tetch?” 

Jervis looked up in surprise and saw Alice. Well, she sure looked like Alice. Yes, her long, wavy brunette hair may have been a bit off from what he was used to, and her skin may have been a darker shade, but she was dressed so nicely in a blue blouse and a matching skirt, with a name-tag that clearly read “Alice”. She must have been Alice. He didn’t know who else she could be.  

“Oh it’s very nice, thank you,” he smiled pleasantly. He took a small look around, noticing the interaction had gained the weak attention of a few others in the small waiting room. How miserable they looked, the lot. He quite pitied them. “I’m glad you’re comfortable,” Alice spoke, grabbing his attention once more. Oh she could always do so with ease, he noted to himself. “Well he’s ready to see you now. Would you like some more tea before you go?” She gestured to the batch of iced tea on the table in the corner, made for all other patients to enjoy. “Oh I couldn’t possibly,” he spoke politely, coming to a stand. He quickly finished his tea before tossing the cup away.  

“Just remember, it’s okay to be nervous around him,” Alice spoke, clutching the clipboard to her chest as she led him down a well-lit hall. “All first-time patients are nervous.” As they were passing the doors of many other doctors, Jervis took the time to quickly read some of the names posted on the doors. He briefly had the thought of how his life would differ had it been anyone else he’d wound up with. Alice stopped several meters away from the door at the end of the hall, gesturing to it with a smile. “He’s in there,” she said softly. With that, she turned and left. He watched her strut off, possibly to retrieve another patient. His thoughts lingered on her for a moment or two, before he looked at the door. He felt that sudden tightness in his chest again, but this time, it felt right at home. Without another thought to dwell on it, he rapped his knuckles on the door. 

When it opened, he couldn’t help but be intimidated by the larger scale of the man. Short red hair, thin physique, gray eyes, but a warm expression. “Jervis Tetch?” he asked, holding out a hand. “Mister Crane,” Jervis greeted with a returned smile, quickly taking the hand and giving it a firm shake. “A pleasure to meet you.” “Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” Crane complimented, gesturing for his patient to enter the small room. “Tense? You must be nervous. Have a seat.” Jervis quickly situated himself in a soft armchair in the dimly lit room, noticing a few posters and papers on the wall encouraging self-care and support. Already he felt more comfortable than he had ever been at his former doctor’s office. “Do you prefer doctor or professor?” he asked as the door was shut behind them, shrouding the small room in subdued atmosphere. “Quaint,” Crane noted curtly, although his tone indicated it was a compliment. He took the time to pick up a clipboard from his desk, tapping his pen against the clip a couple times as he sat himself down in the chair across from his new patients. “The University calls me professor. Clients call me doctor. Please, call me whatever you would like.”  

“May I call you Jonathan then?” Jervis asked rather boldly, watching Crane cross one leg over the other as he got comfortable. The doctor lifted his gaze as he untucked a pair of reading glasses from the neck of his dress shirt. He paused for a moment, taking only a second to consider the question. “Of course,” he replied, his furrowed brow and incredulous tone making the notion sound absurd. “If that’s what makes you comfortable, by all means, go ahead.” He laid the clipboard in his lap, fitting the notch of his glasses on the ridge of his nose with a simple push. Even still, his gaze rose above thinly-framed lenses as he continued to look at his client. Jervis smiled softly, hoping the expression enjoying the warmth this doctor brung. Even still, he couldn’t help but shift in his seat silently, unable to get comfortable.  

“Scared?” Jonathan asked gently, knitting his fingers together as he rested them on his lap. Despite his words a grin was spreading across his lips. Jervis was taken aback by the strong accusation against him. He opened his mouth to refute the claim, or at least brush it off as nervousness. Still, he paused, and instead he said something he could never remember speaking before. “Very,” Tetch confirmed, an apologetic grin coming to his face. “I must admit, I’ve been rather fearful as of late, and I can’t quite place why.” The good doctor seemed almost empathetic in demeanor. “That’s completely fine,” Crane assured him, most likely making sure his voice was articulate and smooth as he spoke. Jervis often found himself wondering what these doctors really sounded like. “Being afraid is completely natural and it is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, a good amount of fear is healthy for you.”  

Jervis felt this well of skepticism enter him as he felt unused to the constant eye-contact and untrue reassurances. He unconsciously tugged at the edges of the sleeves of his collared shirt, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under the doctor’s stilled gaze. “I might as well tell you now that there are some thing I am… not comfortable to talk about,” he confessed, feeling as though the man already knew all the secrets he was refraining from divulging. “There is nothing wrong with that,” Crane replied, pushing the lenses further up the bridge of his nose. “I want you to know that this is a safe space for you. You can tell me as much or as little as you are comfortable with.” Jervis was surprised to realize he was so unstigmatized by this individual. A smile twitched to his face and spread quickly, relaxing slightly in his seat. “Is that so?” Jervis questioned softly, almost as if issuing a sort of challenge. Crane, however, merely chuckled, placing a hand on his own chest. “Don’t worry, Jervis. I promise everything said in this room will stay between you and me.” Jervis grinned softly, his nerves beginning to unwind in the presence of the doctor as the other focused his gaze. Even if every aspect of this man before him was completely fake; a façade only meant for comfort, he couldn’t see past it even if he tried. In this moment, he felt safe, but from whom, he couldn’t say. “There is nothing to fear here.” Crane let a calm smile cross his lips as he adjusted his glasses. “You can trust me.”  

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"Yo, Mikey! Let's go!"

Mikey turned, cigarette hanging from his lips as his hands desperately searched his body. "Hold on hold on, I think I dropped my fuckin' lighter," he called back, giving an annoyed mutter as he ran to catch up with his friend. "Ya think ya dropped it back in that alleyway?" Caleb asked him, gesturing back at the street they had just crossed. "Fuck I hope not," Mikey sighed, checking his back pockets. "That bum better not have snatched the thing."

"Dipshit, ya probably left it back at the tailgate," Caleb giggled, easily knocked off his balance when he was given a hard shove to the shoulder. In his drunken stupor he found his reaction time to be a lot slower, not realizing what had just happened until Mikey was halfway down the street and running . "Asshole!" he laughed, running after him in the night. Luckily Mikey had a lot more to drink than he, and with Caleb on the track team he easily tackled the bastard to the ground. The black male swore when his cig dropped to the ground, but when you're wasted and in college, the five second rule becomes the two minute rule.

"Get off before I beat your ass!" he laughed, kicking the blonde off, but not before his beanie was ripped off his head. Getting up, he snatched the hat back and pulled it back on his head, not prepared for when his buddy grabbed both end of the beanie and pulled it so far down it covered his mouth. "Fuck you, you're gonna tear it!" he complained, fixing it as he retrieved smoke from the ground. "What are ya, five?" "C'mon, there's a gas station near my house," Caleb encouraged, leading the way.

"Isn't there a gas station near everyone's house?" Mikey questioned woozily, getting a flick on the head. "Smart ass. The guy who does the night shift is cool," Caleb explained. "Sells me smokes and beer whenever 's long as I slide him an extra five."

"I dunno, man," Mikey murmured, following after him, "I gotta get home to Liz. She gets pissy when I stay out even a bit past midnight."

"Boy, it's two fuckin' AM," Caleb laughed, causing the other to fumble for his phone. "What? Bro I thought it was still twelve." He was nearly thrown off balance by the large pat on the back. "Holy shit you're absolutely wasted," the blonde grinned, tugging him along. "No no no, Liz's gonna kill me if I come home too late," Mikey complained, his drunken pleas only responded to with the roll of the eyes. "C'mon it's just a short ways away. You said you needed a light, didn't ya?"

Mikey just shrugged and followed along, tucking the smoke into his pocket. "Yeah, okay," he sighed as they made their way to the brightly-lit gas station. "Okay, so two six packs for the both of us or are we gonna split it?" the caucasian suggested, shoving his hands onto his shorts. "Nah, I can't have 'nymore," Mike slurred. "Liz's gonna have my ass if I show up drunk. Usually because I forget to feed her." Caleb stopped, tugging on his friend's coat to get him to halt as well. "Wait… you're gonna cook for your girl at 3 AM?" he questioned, slurring that drunk confusion one would usually see in an individual tipping on the edge of wasted. "My girl? No, dumbass. Liz's my cat!" Mike clarified. "Your cat? Since fuckin' when?" said the other.

"Since I got her three years ago. Since ferever, I guess."

"Dude, how have I not known this?"

"Yer askin' me? We've known each other for, like, two years."

"And? It's your fault ya never let me crash over at your place."

"And ya never thought it was kinda weird that I told you I pet her?"

"Hey, look man, I just thought you guys were into some weird shit."

"God love ya, you're slow on the uptake," Mikey laughed, giving him a hard shove to the shoulder as they walked between the pumps of the station. "Tell ya what, you keep thinkin' that and I'll pray for your sorry ass, kay?"

"Man, fuck you. At least now that I know she's a cat, I can say this: she sounds like a fuckin' bitch!" He swerved just in time to miss that swing, stumbling slightly from his own movements as he laughed. "Fine, if you don't wanna drink, ya wanna coke?" Caleb asked as soon as they were under the florescent lighting. The man looked like an absolute snowball under such bright lights. There was a race joke in there somewhere they both would have appreciated, but his friend just really couldn't think of it at the moment, and if he tried to tell it, it would have been a bunch of slurs. "Yeah, sure," Mikey nodded, looking around the lot. He spotted a car parked at one of the pumps. "What kind?" Caleb pressed, already walking to the entrance. "Sprite," was the answer from the student as he watched him disappear from view. Thankfully he was beginning to sober up, as he vaguely recognized the place. He looked over at the car, noticing it was the only one there. Of course, at 2 AM it wasn't much of a surprise, but it still provided some opportunity.

Taking a look around, he casually stepped closer to the car, peering curiously into it and being surprised when he noticed someone sleeping in the passenger seat. Tall thin white guy, he noted, grinning to himself as he looked over the car. A flat hood and trunk; perfect. Rubbing his hands together, he moved to the trunk, giggling to himself stupidly. With a sudden burst of force, he slammed both hands on the trunk of the vehicle, causing it to rock slightly. He ran just as the car alarm began to blare, coming back in time to see the man inside jump to life in surprise, actually slamming his head on the roof of the car. Even through closed windows he could hear the guy swear, unlocking the driver's side door and causing the alarm to stop. To Mikey's drunken surprise and caution the older man promptly exited the car, glaring daggers at the student. It still didn't stop his roaring laughter, however.

"Whoa whoa whoa, it was just a j- an accident, c'mon," Mikey giggled, stepping back a bit when the victim of his prank actively moved around the car to confront him. "An accident. Sure," the likely victim, Jonathan Crane, sneered, looking upon him in contemptuous disdain. He was one to talk; the man himself looked like he was dressed in rags from the looks of it. Not even; he looked like one of those villagers from Mike's old high school production of Camelot. "Chill, man," the student chuckled, watching him lean back against the car, rubbing at tired eyes. "Hey, y' gotta light?"

Jonathan was silent for a moment, slowly looking back into the window of the car. Looking back at the younger man, he stared for what seemed like an eternity to the less sober of the two. All tension seemed to melt from him. "Yeah," he finally answered, holding out a hand expectantly as he rolled down the window. He was given the cigarette and leaned in through the open window, lighting it with the built-in cigarette lighter.

"Thank ya, man," Mikey grinned, taking the cigarette with two fingers and placing it between his lips. Taking a deep inhale, he dug through his pockets. Wisps of vapor gray were just leaving his lips as he offered the doctor another cigarette, as if to apologize for nearly giving him a heart attack. "Nah," Jonathan declined with a wave of his hand. "I quit years back." Mikey looked up with slight interest, figuring he had not much else to talk about. "How'd ya manage that?" he asked, taking in another lungful of smoke. The doctor didn't reply right away, watching him as he decided on an answer. Another devilish idea popping into his head, Mikey leaned forward and blew the puff of smoke directly into Jonathan's face. Crane shut his eyes, turning his head away as he was hit by the cloud of smoke. A strained smile was immediately present on his face, and little known to Mikey and his fuzzy mind, the boy was inches away from his own death. Despite his idiocy, he was feeling his senses begin to sober up slightly. Even still, it was clear he didn't have his head on completely straight from the way he leaned against a gas pump for support. At one point he found it easier to sit on the ground; no better foundation than the earth itself, Jonathan supposed, working his jaw as he watched the young man plop back on the pavement. "Ah found somethin' else," he replied casually, opening the back seat to sit on its edge as he faced the student. He reached back until he felt that familiar metal attachment to Scarecrow's outfit. "What, meth?" Mikey joked, receiving a humorless chuckle in return. Jonathan's gaze flicked up from the glove he had retrieved, removing the gadget attached. He wasn't trying to be inconspicuous when this little punk couldn't be bothered to think him a threat. Mike squinted at the device; he wouldn't have been able to guess what it was even if he was sober, so he just said the first thing that came to mind.

"Oh shit, you vape?" Mike grinned, watching the man put the end of the metal device to his lips. "That's what's up." Crane watched him as he flicked the switch, filling his own lungs with a wave of dull orange gas. Within seconds, his years of hard work did quick business with his bloodstream and subsequently his neurons. He had every intention of leaning forward and blowing the toxic cloud back in the kid's face in a bit of poetic irony. If there was any sort of justice in this world, that child would be rolling on the ground and screaming his lungs out.

Jonathan himself, of course, would be on death row, he was reminded. If there indeed was any sort of justice, he would be long dead by now. He looked down at the young adult, knowing he himself was a younger man when he made the decisions that would alter his life forever. Silently he watched the student take another inhale as he let go of his own breath, letting trails of faded orange vapor leave his lungs steadily as he considered him. Within seconds, he began seeing flickers at the edge of his vision; demons that once haunted his past brought back to remind him of what he once feared, but he felt nothing towards them. And so, as soon as they had appeared, they were gone, only a few shadows lingering behind of what had once truly terrified him. He noticed that tall, imposing, gray-haired figure, frowning softly at the unpleasant memory. She lingered for maybe a few seconds before disappearing from view. Torturous as a child, merely an annoyance to think about as an adult. "Yew could say that," he said simply. He noticed that gaunt, frail, flickering figure made of straw in his vision and couldn't help but smile and give himself that mental pat on the back at his own handiwork. The being flickered and moved in and out of existence, keeping Jonathan's attention for the time being up until his concentration was broken by the young man.

"You a farmer?" Mikey suddenly asked, raising his brow. Jonathan was silent, looking back at the figure to see it was gone. He frowned, taking in another lungful of his toxin from the aerosol weapon as an excuse to stay mum as he slumped lazily in his seat. "I mean, ya sound like one, thas all," the student shrugged. "Use ta be," Jonathan confirmed, watching the vivid hallucination flicker back into his own reality. He was brought back to old childhood terrors; crows, the jeers and humiliation from other students, the torture he went through, that Scarecrow. The thin, straw-filled frame seemed more tangible now. "Oh damn, that's cool," Mikey grinned, flicking the ashes onto the ground, not realizing the very real consequences of lighting a cigarette so close to a ground doused in god knows how many chemicals. Stupid, idiotic, he needs to learn his lesson like everybody else. Jonathan shook his head, taking interest in the boy's statement. When the student received a questioning look, he babbled something as his strewn mind tried to formulate a proper response. "Like, y'know, I'm a nutrition major," he continued. "I wanna get into agriculture. My auntie works a farm on the countryside and I, y'know, always thought it was, like, pretty cool. Y'get what I mean?" When the figure disappeared from view, he took another inhale.

"Georgia State?" Jonathan asked with smoke-filled words, gesturing to his labeled hoodie. He could hear the words a little clearer now, the hallucinations of the gas seeming almost real at this point. "Second year," he grinned, looking down at the big bolded letters. "You been?"

"Alumni. Double major," Crane said simply, his eyes on the moving image. "Oh damn, that's what's up," Mikey complimented. "Any advice?"

Jonathan thought for a moment, taking in another deep inhale of his gas and letting it out into the air with a quick exhale. It was becoming reflex at this point as the being stopped flickering from existence. "Jus' remember to study hard, manage yer time, 'n… make friends… 'n be careful." He gestured to the car. "Y' dunno who yew could be pissin' off, so jus'… don' be stupid n' be kind to others." He chuckled to himself. "A repeated phrase, ah know, but trus' me, it pays off more than yew could imagine."

"Ya sound like one of the professors," Mikey teased, barely paying any mind to a spoken word. "Be prepared to throw away yer time, 'cause Chem 1102K is a bitch. Keep a calendar, form a study group," Crane sighed, figuring that was more of what the young man expected to hear. Every time he would begin to see a little waver, he would take another inhale of his own gas. "'N buy a model kit. Really helps with molecular geometry."

"Ah fuck, those are, like, thirty bucks," Mikey grumbled, crushing his cigarette. "You're probably right, though." He looked around idly, brightening up when he saw his friend exiting the store. He got up, wobbling and stuffing his hands into his pockets as he made his way over. "Sorry 'bout that," Caleb grinned, leading him away from the station and tossing him a lighter. "New lady at the counter. Took a bit of convincin'. Think you're good to drive?"

"Nah, don't think so," Mikey sighed, tucking the lighter into his pocket. "I'll crash at your place again." Caleb visibly turned and looked back at the car as he walked. "Dude, I saw you blow smoke at the guy's face. He looked ready to fuckin' murder ya." To this his friend just scoffed. "Him? Yeah right; he woulda gotten beat the fuck up."

"Once again your restraint continues to surprise me," Jervis commented, approaching the car. "How much of that did you see?" Jonathan asked casually, letting out a sigh as he got up from the seat in the back and shut the door. Leaving the weapon in the back, his concentration was still held by the seemingly tangible monster. "Well I came running when I heard the car alarm," Tetch replied, showing off the bag of goods in his hand. From the looks of it, it was from a pharmacy. "When I saw smoke in your face, I figured I might as well stay back while you inject him full of your toxins. Of course, I didn't expect you to converse with the young man."

"Why put in the effort?" Jonathan asked simply, walking over to the passenger's seat. "They're college students. They're still young and dumb with growing up to do, but they have a life ahead of them."

Jervis slid into the driver's seat. "You really wanted to give him fear gas, didn't you?" he chuckled, watching Jonathan rest his forehead on the dashboard and take a deep breath. "God yes," Jonathan groaned, sitting back and holding his head. You wanted to hurt them. He paused, taking a quick glance at the back seat before running a hand through his hair. "I get flashbacks to my younger years. The fools who teased and taunted and constantly loved pulling their pranks, albeit their's were far more targeted and worse in nature. Thankfully my years as a professor has helped to ease my lack of self control." He let out a sigh, looking at the backseat at that monster he saw, staring at him. He could hear it more clearly than ever. "I feel that anger clawing from the inside, but I just need to remind myself that… well, they're still young adults. They make mistakes, as we all have, but they hardly should be killed for it for having a bit of fun." He looked forward again, letting out a tired sigh.

"Is this your way of showing guilt for killing your former classmates?" Jervis deduced, starting the car. "Don't insult me," Jonathan scoffed, "and leave the analyzing to the doctor, while you're at it. I'd do it a thousand times over, if I could, and I'd be sure to bring popcorn to each of their subsequent funerals. I just wish it had gone on longer. Now, let me tell you, had it been Sca-" He stopped, clearing his throat as he heard a noise from the back of the car. Almost akin to a laugh. "Had I offed this boy, I would have done the exact same. All I'm saying now is that it all seems rather pointless to put in the effort." He looked over at him. "It's a waste of potential, as well as human life. He was clearly drunk, after all. They most likely came from a tailgate."

"Tailgate?" Jervis questioned, pulling out of the lot and getting back onto the road. "Yes, I've only been to one," Crane recalled. "Back when I was in college of course. I don't even like sports, nor could I stomach alcohol (back then), so I suppose it was an act of trying to fit in. Unfortunately I was never socially skilled, so it was further entertainment at my expense." Jervis was quiet, clearly lost in concentration. "Forgive me," he laughed nervously. "But, ah, what is a 'tailgate'?" he questioned. Crane blinked, looking over at him in unexpressed surprise. "You don't know what 'tailgating' is?" he questioned. Jervis looked away, a little embarrassed at his lack of knowledge on the subject. "Am I supposed to?" Tetch squeaked. Jonathan considered the question, before just shaking his head. "It's a southern practice. I'm too tired and you're not American, so just look it up when you have the time," he said simply. Taken aback, Jervis pursed his lips in unspoken annoyance. "Well now, I've been in this country for a number of years, practically a citizen myself; I think I should get to know the intricacies of your culture," he responded, attempting to seem casual about being defensive. "You're a Green Card holder," Jonathan reminded him, taking silent amusement in the man's poorly-hidden frustration. Tetch, being the gentleman he always was, just straightened his back, smiled, and replied, "Snicker-snack, Hare. Bold words for a man who couldn't be bothered to take a foreign language course in university."

"You are going to forever hang that over my head, aren't you?" Jonathan sighed. Jervis just chuckled. "Bien sûr," he teased with a wink.

Crane just scoffed and looked back once more. Jervis was curious as to what his friend was so distracted by, and so he looked back as well. "My, is there something behind us?" he questioned curiously. Jonathan stared at one spot on the back seat for a few moments. All crows and demons of the past had disappeared, but with this one there not a flicker nor a fading of that voice. As usual, he knew. "No," he said simply, turning back around. "Keep driving."

"Okay, so tailgating is for sports, right?" Tetch then said, changing the subject as Jonathan watched the darkness move past the windows. "So what I'm assuming is that it's something similar to going to the pub on Footy Night."

The doctor's attention was finally broken when Jervis spoke once again. He furrowed his brow, looking over. "I'm sorry, you call it what?"

"Alright, that's brilliant and whatnot, but what I need to know is-" Jervis paused, holding up a finger to politely excuse himself to yawn. "Tired?" Jonathan asked knowingly, receiving a small nod from the Englishman. "A little." By this time the sun had begun to rise, casting a soft light that was slowly crawling its way up the highway. "Alright, it's time to switch," Crane sighed, feeling the car come to a slow stop by the side of the road. Jervis slumped his way out of his seat, getting out of the car to trade positions with Jonathan. Luckily, with the sun out, he would be able to better see the signs on the road even without his reading glasses. With Batman no doubt on their trail, they had no time to waste. If they made it there, they could no doubt shake the him off of their tails within their own safe zones. On his way in, Jonathan had to stop to hold his sore stomach, cursing Batman under his breath. Injuries always hurt the worst the next day, and right now he was prey to the aftershocks of all of the Batman's hardest hits.

"Don't let my exhaustion disturb your story," Jervis grinned, buckling himself up. "So, my question is: was I in it?"

Jonathan said nothing, letting no emotion escape him and give it away as he left the Englishman in suspense. As soon as they were back on the road, he let it slip. "Yes," he said finally, leaning over a little to get out of Jervis' range of expressive celebration.

"Brilliant! Oh the Hare has dreams of me," Jervis giggled. "Only for three seconds, though," Crane finished, being sure to catch the quick pout of disappointment. "You walked in, sat down, opened your mouth to say something, but forgot what you were going to say and so you promptly left." To this he received a funny look. "Now what kind of role is that?" Jervis scoffed, seemingly almost offended. "None, and I couldn't be more thankful," the American sighed. "I already see enough of you as it is, and if I never saw you again it would still be too soon." Tetch took the insult with a grain of salt, instead moving on to urge him to continue. "So tell me, what came next?"

"So I was working when Miss Kyle came into my office," Jonathan continued, receiving a questioning look. "She was one of your patients at Arkham?" he asked. "Oh of course not. I doubt she's ever even been," was the response. "Anyways, so she asks me if I was good with birds. Now obviously I say yes, and so she replies, 'Okay, good, because there's something I need you to help me with.' Before I know it we're at her apartment. Now I've never been, but in my dream it was filled to the brim with cats." "Naturally." "Of course. When I walk in through the door, there, hanging from the ceiling, is Dr. Langstrom."

"Man-Bat?" Jervis laughed. "The one and only," Crane confirmed. He stopped to thump his temple, trying to recall the rest of his dream. "Ah, okay. After a minute of gawking, I go, 'Selina, I appreciate the confidence, but I don't think I'll be of any help… Why do you have Dr. Langstrom In your apartment?' She, with the eloquence of Professor Pyg, goes on to say, 'Well, I like bats, and I mean really like bats, so I decided to get myself one.' So I just simply replied, 'Why?' She puts her hands on her hips and says, 'Have you seen the one that kicked your ass? He's quite a hunk.'"

"Well she's not wrong," Jervis agreed.

"So I look at Dr. Langstrom and I-" He stopped, looking over at Jervis for a brief moment before looking back onto the road. "I look at Dr. Langstrom and I pull out my clipboard and naturally I ask him, 'How do you feel about all this?' Man-Bat opens his mouth and out blares that car alarm. That's when I woke up."

"My my, and I thought my dreams were mad!" Tetch giggled, trying to restrain himself from laughing so hard at the absurdity of it all. "Your dreams are mad," Crane scoffed. "You're just far too used to the madness." Tetch gave a knowing smile, as if to say "True. You got me there."

Crane moved his hand to grab the bottle of sweet tea Jervis had gotten him. Tetch had gone to the pharmacy to grab some medical supplies, the both of them agreeing that they needed to patch up their wounds again pretty soon. Once they found the perfect place to stop, Jonathan would work his magic. He had also picked up a few extra things, such as drinks and a bit of food to snack on. He had even gotten a phone. Of course, anyone could guess that all these items were taken not of the cashiers own free will. They estimated a good day-long time frame before they would have to ditch the phone completely. It wasn't for anything too important; mostly for directions and calling anyone if need be. Jonathan had even placed a call to his henchman, informing him they were about a third of the way there and that everything better be as he'd left it.

"So, tell me, March Hare," Jervis began, no doubt the beginning of a much longer conversation, "do you regularly…" He gestured back to the flickering figure in the backseat. Jonathan looked back at the grinning monster in silent alarm, realizing that Jervis was actually referring to the aerosol canister he had left back there. He stretched back, ignoring the chuckle as he quickly snagged it. "Inhale my own toxin?" he asked, presenting the tool. "Well, yes," Jervis nodded, "unless there's something else in that canister that I have been falsely lead to believe is your toxin." Jonathan gave him an unamused look, looking back one more time as he was urged to do it. He put the opening of the canister to his lips and flicked on the trigger. Jervis's reaction was immediate, scrambling back in his seat and exclaiming, "Whoa whoa, not in the bloody car!"

As Jonathan took in that quick inhale, he found subtle joy in watching Jervis' automatic, fear-induced response. Wide-eyes, quickened breathing; he swear he could hear cackling from the back of the car. He was so afraid of the formula and being forced to relive that nightmare again. Blow it in his face. Give him another dose. Rolling down the window, Jonathan waited until the flickering stopped before blowing the smoke out the opening. "I swear you actually want to see me writhing and screaming," Jervis scoffed, calming down slowly. You want to help him face his fears again while he struggles and cries. "Do you do that often?" Tetch continued. Jonathan gave a hum, throwing the device in the back seat. "Every so often," he replied honestly. "I prefer to not use my own men as test subjects, so I'll use myself to measure the strength of each new variation of my formula."

"I thought you said you were immune to its effects," Jervis questioned. "Immune to fear, yes," he replied. "My toxin can no longer instill fear inside me, but that doesn't mean I don't… see a few things." His eyes flitted up to the rearview mirror to look at the subject under discussion. "The strength of those hallucinations are what help me gauge my progress, understand?" Tetch nodded slowly, giving an iffy look to whatever he was paying attention to in the backseat. "Ah, how… special," he grimaced. "I'd rather do without the fear, thank you. You may be unable to feel fear, but I very much can."

"How great would it be if you couldn't?" Jonathan suddenly offered, as willed by the toxin in his own veins and the monster urging him on in the back of his head. Jervis gave him a startled look, saying nothing as he let Crane explain himself. "Think about it," he continued. "You know how much it helped you to work through a small dosage. A few good doses of my toxin and I could easily whittle away those fears of yours." He grinned in a way Tetch hadn't seen since the night at the warehouse. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "After all, the best way to be rid of a fear is constant exposure. All it would take is a few measly experiments. You could be without fear of yourself, or death, or the Batman, or anything, really. You could live a life not plagued by fear… like me."

Jervis said nothing at first, frowning deeply as he looked away. Many questions and responses ran through his head, but he finally decided on one simple reply. "Only a few experiments?" Jonathan's excitement was well-managed, but apparent nonetheless. He nodded, giving Tetch a wry smile. "Only a few," he repeated. "Is that how long it took for you to become immune?" Jervis asked.

Crane's expression immediately fell, control of the conversation now falling into Tetch's hands. At the moment, he said nothing, turning his head away to check the rearview mirror. "You spent a few days or a week or so breathing in your own toxin?" Jervis pressed on, red flags going up in his head at the silence. How dare he. To this he was gifted a humorless laugh to relieve tension, but it seemed to only thicken whatever was between them. "Is that what you think I did?" Crane asked, no longer bothering to look over at him. "That's what everyone says," the smaller man replied, before adding, "That and run-ins with the Bat. After all, you've had quite a few incidents where he gave you a taste of your own medicine. Accidentally, of course."

"Medicine… of course," Jonathan murmured, any of the previous excitement now gone. Jervis gave him a curious look. "Is that not what happened?" The expression Jonathan bore read as someone who was unwilling to speak of it, and yet somehow he forced out a response. "No, it's not," the doctor sighed, taking to looking up at the mirror again. The toxin he had just inhaled brought him back to the Asylum. There was no flickering, but right now he just really needed it to disappear and get out of his head.

"So how long did it take?" Jervis asked next, finding it simpler to try a different question. Reluctance was evidence, but always a man unwilling to leave patients without some sort of answer, Crane forced something out, anyways. "Conquering your fears is never so fast. It took… several months," he sighed softly, the radio now becoming a tune of white noise and annoyance. The milliner seemed unhappy, his expression grave. "You'd have me strapped down for months on your experiments?" he spoke softly, despite his tone indicating feelings of offense and an incredulous reaction. Yes. "Yes," Jonathan nodded, the word being the only statement of affirmation he was willing to give. "Would that make you happy?" was the next pressing inquiry. We don't need to be happy. "If not, it would be as close as I'm going to get," Crane smiled politely.

Jervis seemed to come to this slow sense of realization at that moment, giving a slow nod. "I'm going to help you," he spoke with confidence, intriguing and annoying the subject in discussion. "I'm going to help you as you have to me." Jonathan's frown twitched with an unreadable emotion. "Don't overstep your boundaries, Tetch. There is a line to be drawn, and I'd rather you not cross it." Lord knows he's let him in as much as he could possibly bear. "Trust me; I don't need help."

"I'm going for a nap," Jervis said, a newfound skip being added to his tone. "Wake me when you feel tired. I feel as though my wound can't take any more strain before my arm tears off completely. We'll find someplace to fix them up tonight."

Jonathan watched him turn over. "You're still under a bit of my toxin," he reminded him. "You may experience nightmares if you sleep so soon."

"I'll take my chances," Jervis called, no longer bothering to look back at him. Crane said nothing, throwing an annoyed glance at the third passenger before turning up the radio a slight bit.

Jonathan tapped the steering wheel mindlessly, his thoughts elsewhere as he just attempted to keep his mind somewhere else. "Almost there," he sighed, a frown coming to his face as he checked the time. Looking behind him, he was thankful to see nothing there, as it had been for the past two hours. The toxin finally fading from his mind, he saw no more flickers of demons from his past and any inane mutterings had been reduced to easily-suppressed dark thoughts in the back of his head. Did he regret taking so much toxin? Yes, he'll admit it was a mistake, his personal vices having gone and gotten the better of him. This was what happens when he gets to comfortable with other people; he lets that undesirable side show. That ugliness that reared its head whenever he got completely engrossed in his own work. He just needed to feel that tingling, awful, heart-racing, chest-tightening sense of fear his system had been deprived of for so long. He almost envied Jervis in a way; the poor Hatter kicked in his sleep. Yes, Jonathan may snore, but this little devil spoke more tall tales in his sleep than any preacher he had ever met.

It wasn't until five minutes into it that he realized Jervis had quieted down. Alarms were raised within him, keeping a close eye on the sleeping man, who had decided to forgo the safety of a seat belt in favor of lying over the seat and slumping onto the middle console. It was fine; Jonathan didn't need that much arm space anyways, he told himself. His mind was as sharp as a nail when he saw slight movement within the otherwise motionless man. Tetch's hand slowly raised, reaching for something slowly enough to where it was obvious he hoped Jonathan wouldn't notice.

"Touch the radio and I bite your hand off," he said simply, watching Jervis spring to life with an annoyed proclamation at the ready. "But we've been listening to Country music for the entire day!" he complained, giving a little grunt when the action caused pain within his shoulder wound. This was noticed, and so it was silently decided between the two that now was a good time to search for a place to stay and tend to the wounds. "And?" Jonathan asked. "Just three more hours and we'll be in Gotham. You can deal with it."

"I don't think anyone could take three more hours of beer, attractive women, and more-so attractive trucks," Tetch whispered, covering his ears in annoyance. "I don't even know what a four-wheel drive is, and the fact that you do confuses me." Crane threw him a funny look, figuring any previous disagreements were silently settled within his head. "If you wanted the music changed so badly, all you had to do was say so," he said softly, gesturing for him to take control. "I'm not even listening to it, to be honest. It's all white noise." Jervis immediately began turning knobs and pressing buttons until he came to a classical music station, one he seemed to more than enjoy. As long as one of them was happy with it, it all worked out fine then.

"Do you think we should add Nygma to our plan?" Tetch asked out of the blue, taking Jonathan by light surprise. "Riddler?" he questioned, his tired mind trying to piece together a near complete puzzle until it all clocked. "Oh. You mean into our plot against Gotham?" He hadn't thought about it in so long he had almost forgotten it existed, a surprise seeing as they had been planning this for months. When he got a nod of confirmation, he continued. "I believe it would… do no harm. If anything, he would be a greatly-needed ally. But…"

"But…?" Jervis repeated, looking anxious at the one word that hung in the air. "I'm extremely cautious of his riddles. I mean… how many times as he foiled his own plans by underestimating the bat? He underestimates everyone, of course, but the Batman is one you do not want to fall short on."

"Understandable. We do need to work out all the kinks of his involvement, but I believe it could be of huge benefit our plan. Would you be interested?" Tetch offered, kicking his feet as he looked at him curiously. "You sound quite like a marketing salesman," Crane scoffed, although he didn't seem to be disagreeing. "Why are you interested in dragging him in all of the sudden?" As they approached one of the smaller towns, he spotted an old building way off the side of the road. His eyes did not fail to catch the large cross perched up on the tip of the building, signifying its importance to the community.

"Well I simply believe he could be of more than great use to us," Jervis reasoned. "Poor Dormouse must be feeling left out. Besides, we have a much higher chance of success by adding a third guest to our party." He blinked, noticing they were pulling into a church parking lot. The bell tower up high felt almost intimidating; they didn't make them like that anymore.

"Yes, and it leads to greater risks," Jonathan rebuked, but it was hardly given any attention. "My, if you wanted to switch to Christianity so badly, you only have to tell me. I swear, your poetic symbolism is becoming more and more prominent." Jonathan rolled his eyes as he stopped the car, not yet pulling the keys out. "There is no symbolism in real life," he said brusquely. "Things just happen, and that is nature. However, is it ironic? Most definitely." He grabbed a bottle of painkillers from the bag, briefly checking the label to make sure he wasn't drugging himself with what could be a bottle of sleeping pills, and promptly swallowed a few. He offered some to Jervis, who knew what was coming and quickly took some as the other left.

Without shutting off the car, he quickly got out, taking a moment to hold his stomach from the brief flash of pain. Making his way over to the doors, he gave them a strong tug, thankful when they didn't budge for him. With that he motioned for Jervis to follow.

"You know, a church is a very public place, Hare," Tetch commented after shutting the car off and grabbing the medical supplied and bundling up the rest of Crane's weapons and costume in his arms. "This one isn't the twenty-four hour kind," the doctor replied, already going to work on the lock. "We'll be safe until service in the morning, but by then we'll be long gone." As soon as the doors were unlocked, he hurriedly made his way inside. As the night's natural light flooded in, Tetch was a bit more hesitant to simply run in like his partner in crime. He stuck his head in, looked around carefully, as if he ran the danger of being spotted by a stray rat. "Tetch, let's go," Crane's voice rang out, the speaker shrouded in shadow. Hatter took a few steps in, feeling uneasy. Startled when Jonathan was suddenly beside him, he gave the man an apologetic grin as he tried to move faster. "You aren't scared of Him, are you?" Jonathan accused, his voice becoming impatient and unamused. Jervis looked up at the foot of the barely-lit cross, forcing himself to look away. "W-well, I haven't been in, er, in a church in years," he explained in stuttering English. "I was never particularly religious, nor my family, but, erm…" He shook his head, blaming all his anxieties on the blasted toxin. "Let's just get this over with," he sighed, walking between the pews. Jonathan watched for only a moment before following after him.

Thankfully the two had excellent night vision, allowing them to navigate the pews and find the door to the bell tower. They climbed the stairs, with Crane offering to carry his own things despite the pain to his body. "I'll never understand why stairs are always so hard to traverse," Hatter muttered, dropping the supplies onto the ground as he slumped against one of the walls of the tower. From that high up they were at a perfect vantage point, able to see anyone that drove up to their location.

Jonathan grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, pouring some onto a rag. He knew that using it could honestly harm the wound more than help it, but at this point they needed to minimize their risk of infection as much as possible. Jervis noticed, quickly approaching. "What are you doing? You first," he told him, more of a command than a suggestion. Donning an unhappy look, Crane decided it was best to just agree and let the man do what was needed. As much as he was reluctant to follow through, he couldn't remove a bullet himself, no matter how hard he bit on a piece of wood. He removed the top to Scarecrow's outfit, exposing that ugly bullet wound to the world. Jervis sat back, he couldn't help but grimace at the unpleasant bruises that seeped through the man's skin. It must've been too painful to even bear had it been someone without Crane's level of pain tolerance. He removed his gloves, taking a slow breath as he began.

Wincing when the alcohol met his nasty wound, he tried not to look at Jervis' hands, ones that would slowly become more coated in his blood. Jervis had far less experience when it came to treating injuries, but at least he knew what he was doing on some level. "What are those delusions telling you now?" he asked softly, knowing a distraction from the wound would be most beneficial. "They're telling me that you need to let me concentrate lest I sever an artery," Tetch said slowly, grabbing a pair of tweezers. "You aren't digging in with a pair of scissors. Just remove the bullet and be done with iiii-aaah! Damn it Tetch!"

"You're the one telling the poor Hatter he's going to be late!" Jervis accused, sitting back after his first attempt of trying to remove the bullet. "I know I know, just, eugh, even through painkillers it hurts like hell," Crane muttered, urging him to continue. Through clenched teeth he let Tetch continue digging into his shoulder, clenching his fist until his knuckles were white just to have something to hold onto. He mentally willed the Hatter to hurry up but failed to speak, knowing any added stress would only impede on his ability to work. What seemed like merely minutes stretched to hours for Jonathan, who just tried to breathe and grit his teeth through the pain.

"Done!" Jervis grinned, showing off the bloodied bullet. Jonathan sighed in relief, relaxing some knowing that it was over. The Englishman seemed disgusted with himself to have so much blood on his hands, but nonetheless the wound was quickly bandaged and soon it was time to switch.

Crane grimaced at the amount of dried blood that stained and crusted onto Tetch's shoulder, seeping through the white dress shirt and just barely making it through the coat. He was thankful the Hatter had brought along some water, which he used to wipe down his tainted skin. "Just be careful," Tetch pleaded after the wound was cleaned. "Don't think about it and you'll be fine," Jonathan assured him, threading the needle. As soon as the needle punctured his skin, a loud hiss was heard. He knew this wasn't going to be easy. "Speak to me," he commanded, catching the other's attention. "Hmm?" "Talk to me. Keep me distracted," he elaborated. "What would you like me to say?" he requested. "Doesn't matter. Tell me something mad, why don't you?"

Jervis was quiet, every so often making a soft noise to indicate stinging pain. "What if none of this was real?" he said finally, getting an audible sigh from the doctor. "Don't tell me you've been talking to the other schizophrenics at the asylum," said doctor chided. "I never thought I'd have to tell you as well that we are not in a Matrix."

"I know what you're thinking about," said Jervis; "but it isn't so, nohow."

Jonathan paused, thinking up what the next line would be. "Contrariwise," continued Crane, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic. Now, please continue."

"Think about it, will you? Won't you?" Tetch grinned. "Don't you ever wonder, oh so curiously, if I'm even real? The human mind is such a fickle thing, after all. I could have hypnotized you long ago! Just imagine, dream if you will, if this entire absurd trip was some false reality I had put in your head as some ploy to help you feel some semblance of contentment." Jonathan slowed his work, silent as he listened. "After all, you're so terribly unhappy, so you say. Could you blame me for putting you under without your knowledge? Give you false memories just so you could keep these special moments as requiems of trust and happiness? Oh you talk so much about wanting to experiment on me, when in reality I could be the one with you strapped to a chair, making you believe whatever I want to. Ask yourself, are you really in control of your own thoughts? Do you ever find yourself doubting that you're really able to- aaaah!" He cried out in pain, biting his fingers when the felt the wound stitch close with a hard tug, before gagging after he realized his hands were still covered in blood. "All I truly could know is that you're making me uncomfortable, a feat that is hard to achieve in itself," Jonathan said bluntly. "Now quit talking. Hand me the scissors." Jervis blinked in surprise, then fear. "Scissors?" he squeaked with wide eyes.

Jonathan stopped and moved to make tense eye contact with him. "You didn't get scissors?" Jervis' silence was going to kill him. "Any type of blade at all?"Again, silence. "I forgot?" Jervis finally whispered. Crane just rolled his eyes, leaning back to grab something. "It's fine. I have one." Tetch's eyes widen to the size of cup plates when he felt a large, curved blade be placed flat against his back. He was rigid while Jonathan quickly cut the threat with his scythe, taking it off as soon as the job was done, replacing the blade with a wet rag to wipe off the blood. "There, see? No need to worry. You were fearful for no reason." Jervis let his body relax as the wound was cleaned off, his mind running with things to say as he realized he truly had nothing to fear. "You can trust me," Crane sighed, removing the rag from him and handing him his shirt and jacket. "I can, can't I?" Jervis nodded slowly, considering a thought.

"March Hare, can I tell you something?" he called out suddenly, catching the doctor's attention. "Oh you aren't going to tell me I really am in a false reality, are you?" Crane scoffed, pulling on the layers to the top of his costume. Fixing long sleeves, he looked down at the still-sitting Tetch to notice the man bore a more serious demeanor. In response, he walked over to the walls of the bell tower, overlooking the parking lot and the unlit roads that disappeared into the night. He looked back at Jervis "What is it, Tetch? You know you can tell me near anything."

Jervis grimaced. "Nothing quite as reality-altering, I can assure you, but you could consider it as a blessing of knowledge," he said, his expression shifting to a smile. Crane watched him for a moment, gesturing for him to continued as he listened on. His gaze turned back to look at the road, noticing a passing car. Long, sleek; it looked warningly familiar.

"I…" Jervis began, before changing course with a newfound cautious voice. "You aren't…" He paused, then froze, noticing Jonathan suddenly put a hand up to stop him in his tracks. "He's here," Jonathan whispered, recognizing the all-too-familiar vehicle that belonged to a certain Dark Knight. "Damn it! How did he find us? He couldn't have possibly found us!" he swore, moving quickly in spite of the pain.

Confusion reigned in Jervis' mind for only a few moments, before he felt that sudden sense of fear and stress. "Oh dear oh dear oh dear, not now," he whispered, the stress of the event hitting his psyche like a hammer. He quickly got up from his seat as he pulled on the rest of his clothing, his breathing hitching upon seeing that black vehicle. "Whatever shall we do?" he asked, watching Jonathan hurriedly grab his things in spite of renewed pain. "We have to give him the slip somehow," Crane muttered, grabbing his remaining vials of toxin and properly placing them back onto his costume. "Whatever we do, we need to leave now." Grabbing his mask, he slung his scythe over his good shoulder as he was about to head down the stairs, pausing when he noticed how Jervis didn't budge. "Hatter, now." He ordered, causing the smaller of the two to squeak and hide his face. Jonathan noticed how rigid he was, eyes wide as he muttered under his breath. It would have been pleasing to see if the situation hadn't been so dire. "God damn it, I don't have time," Crane sighed to himself, promptly approaching the Hatter as he was undoubtedly about to delve into another episode.

"Tetch," he spoke softly, using his real name to try and keep the man in reality instead of drifting off into Wonderland. If he lost Jervis to an episode again, he would have two problems on his hands. They couldn't afford to face the Batman again, not like last time. "Tetch, I need you to listen to me. Stay with me, alright?" The Mad Hatter closed his eyes, turning his head as he said shakily, "It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then." An Alice quote, of course. Jonathan needed to calm him down, and quickly, and so he spoke as softly as he could. "'What matters it how far we go?' his scaly friend replied." Jervis looked back at him, mouthing along with the words as he looked down at shaky, bloodied hands. "'There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. The further off from England the nearer is to France–'" Jonathan snapped lightly, attempting to get Jervis to follow along. "'Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.'" Jervis finally broke, singing along softly, "Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?" The poem seemed to make him feel better, bringing back what had disappeared for a moment in his frazzled mind. To that he was given a firm pat on his undamaged shoulder. "Let's go. We've already lost too much time," he spoke, already heading down the stairs. Still high-strung, Jervis quickly followed, but both were forced to a stop when they heard the front double doors creak open. "Damn it, we're too late," Jonathan whispered as they once again climbed the stairs of the tower, locking the door behind him.

"Why can't we face him like last time?" Tetch suggested, the idea being immediately scrapped by Crane. "We can't— I can't," he rasped, the adrenaline beginning to work its magic through his bloodstream as his mind searched for all other options. "Not again. My body is in too much physical pain. I couldn't face him even if I wanted to." Jonathan had taken more of a beating back at the motel, but Jervis had no idea just how painful it was to him. He himself began to think of his own ideas, fingering through his pockets until he realized there was something in his coat that could very much be of use.

When Crane saw him present that familiar golden pocket watch, he immediately discarded the idea. "I honestly doubt you'll be able to hypnotize the Dark Knight again," he criticized swiftly, looking over the balcony to see if there were any means of escape that way. "I mean, perhaps there could be a way of slipping a card under his cowl, but it's a long-shot at best."

"I'm not suggesting we use it on him," Jervis clarified, watching Crane stop to piece the riddle together, before staring at him with wide, accusing eyes. "No."

"Hare, I-"

"Absolutely not!" Jonathan exclaimed, his anger evident. "I am not letting you put me under like one of your rabbits!" He could remember the last time he was under the Hatter's control. Loss of motor skills, a lack of any control of his own cognitive thought, the inability to speak or move or even think of his own free will. It was an experience he swore he'd never go through again.

"You won't be able to feel pain," Hatter pleaded with him, opening the pocket watch. "You can face him without any strewn thoughts or pain to hinder you. Hare, it's either this, or we let the Batman take us back to Arkham."

Jonathan turned away, as if not even considering it. "Jonathan, I have trusted you all this time," Jervis reminded him. "We're past our differences; what we need to worry about is that Jabberwock that could be upon us in a matter of minutes! Now, I need you to put a little faith in me. We just need an out right now and once we are within safety I am giving you control again."

Crane stood at the balcony, tapping his foot angrily. "Damn it!" he swore, slamming his fist on the railing. He took in a deep breath, turning to face Tetch. "The moment we are safe, you are taking the hypnosis off," he growled, receiving a frantic nod. "Of course, of course!" the Hatter agreed. "Swear to me," Jonathan rasped, grabbing him tightly by the wrist, to which Tetch could only say, "Yes yes, of course!"

Jonathan let go of him, thinking hard as he turned around. "Make it quick," he said finally, giving him a hard glare before a word could come from him. "I'm warning you, Hatter. I'm putting all my trust in you; I better wake up right after, or it will be off your head, understood?"

The stone-cold seriousness of his voice made it clear he was doing this out of pure need and that there was no desire whatsoever to go through with this. "You'll be fine, Jonathan!" Tetch assured to him, but he still wasn't convinced. "Don't you dare lie to me, Tetch," he whispered lowly. Jervis only smiled, gesturing for Jonathan to sit down. "You're in safe hands, Hare." Crane looked at the floor, grimacing as he reluctantly sat on the wood-paneled ground. His hand were clenched into fists as he just attempted to control his own breathing.

The pocket watch began to tick softly as the seconds passed. "I want you to match your breathing to the ticking of the watch," Jervis began softly. Jonathan listened silently, closing his eyes as his breathing slowed. "Match every word I say to the ticking of the metronome." He listened to how Tetch seemed perfectly in time with the watch. It was almost calming. "Now listen to your heartbeat." He breathed softly, listening to how his heartbeat beat to match that of the clock.

"Tweedledum and Tweedledee

Agreed to have a battle!

For Tweedledum said Tweedledee

Had spoiled his nice new rattle."

Jonathan felt the tension begin to melt away, listening to the rhyme as the mouthed along. He couldn't remember what he had been so angry about moments ago, but he hardly cared to remember. Jervis kept the clock ticking, but had momentarily stopped the song. "Just in case the next time I see you is in Arkham, I need to tell you," he spoke gently, watching Crane nod mindlessly with no thought as to why. Hatter leaned in close to his ear, and with that, he whispered something only Jonathan could hear. His words and their meaning registered completely with the doctor's hazy mind, and to that he let out a soft chuckle. Just the genuine nature of it brought a smile to Jervis' face. "I'm glad you find it so funny," he tittered as he tapped his pocket watch, bringing his attention back to the task at hand.

"Just then flew down a monstrous crow,

As black as a tar-barrel!

Which frightened both the heroes so,

They quite forgot their quarrel."

By the time the last line was spoken, the doctor made himself unavailable for the time being.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Johnny stared up at the ceiling, pillow clutched desperately in his arms as he trembled from under the blankets. The hot, stuffy night air might have been unbearable to most visitors, but Johnny felt nothing about the air when had something else entirely keeping him up at night.

"She ain't real," he said in a hushed voice, the quake in his words leading any listeners to the contrary of his attempts to calm his own wild imagination. The sweltering environment made a blanket an almost insupportable addition to his bed, and yet he didn't dare leave its shelter. "She ain't real she ain't real."

It was an old house, he knew for a fact. Ghosts were probably haunting every room in that dusty rat's nest anyhow. Things moved and they creaked and they skittered within the walls, and that was something everyone had to grow accustomed to. Johnny knew it was all in his head, but it wasn't his conscious decision to have his fear spike when he heard his door creak just a sliver. Images of what could be coming through haunted his nightmares and leaked into sleepless nights. Children and their active imaginations had to have had it the worst.

Sitting up, Johnny had let his nerves get the best of him. He knew that all he needed to do to dissipate his fear was look out the window, make sure she was still in her place, and then he could get some sleep. It's what he did every night, like how a little girl will religiously check under her bed or a young man will look back at his alarm five more times the night before an interview; he knew his fears were unwarranted, but he needed the reassurance. The child took in a slow breath, rubbing an eye tiredly and telling himself it would all be okay. All he needed to do was look left and out the window.

Moonlight shimmered past thinning clouds, illuminating fields of corn that shielded the farmland they grew from. One could get lost in such a maze, lord knows he certainly had several times. His anxiety spiked at the haunting scenery, his mind running wild as they traveled to what jutted out of the fields, and so he simply tried to keep his thoughts busy by running his fingers along his wounds. He played with superficial scratches made by swooping talons or vicious pecking. He dared not touch the lashings along his body, however, knowing even they pained too much for him to touch. He had grown awfully sick the last time he had done so, having reopened a few nasty lesions.

Johnny's gaze slowly rose to the only marker in that cornfield, it being an empty cross that stuck out of the earth like a the sprout of a crop among flat soil. He blinked, eyes growing upon realizing the straw figure that had rested her body the thin frame was nowhere to be seen. "Granny," he called weakly, his voice barely crossing a whisper. He found difficulty in swallowing, breathing becoming labored as his eyes never left the field.

He heard that door creak wider, unable to help when his head snapped to see what was emerging. Silence consumed the room, only burdened by his rapid breathing as his heart pounded in apprehension and terror. He felt that instinctual urge to call out to his great-grandmother even louder, only holding his tongue when he remembered how awful the retaliation would be for his treachery.

A shriek left him when the door snapped open to make way for a pair of large crows, their own cries lost within his piercing terror. He brung the hem of the old quilt up to his chest, scooting back up against the headboard as the two carrion birds fluttered to perch on the opposing footboard. Heart in his throat, he let out a shuddering whimper with teary eyes as he silently begged for their mercy. A yelp found its way out when a couple feathers found their way onto his lap. A slow, cautious look upward revealed the rim of his headboard to be the home of countless other black avians that found this young boy to fuel their intrigue. He stilled in dread, mouth silently forming the prayer his Granny had him repeat every night.

The hallway leading from his room was enveloped in darkness, and yet it was a hint of movement deep in the recesses of shadow, undisrupted by moonlight, that caught his attention.

Johnny.

It's me.

His heart sank when he heard that scratchy, distinctly female voice of a monster made of straw and crow feathers. For his attention, he was treated to the wide, white-eyed stare of something in the shadows of his doorway, bright like headlights without the rays. A scream tore through his throat as he quickly hid his thin frame under the moth-eaten quilt, sweat beginning to drip from his head. "It's jus' a bad dream it's jus' a bad dream it's jus' a bad dream," he cried, hot tears already spilling as his terror consumed his thoughts. "Git her away fro' me!" With the aid of the moonlight, a shadow draped through the the thin material of his blanket, allowing him to see her tall, imposing figure that now stood over his bed. "Granny! Granny!" He screamed for the only salvation he could think of, since God never seemed to turn his head his way.

Why do ya wanna mean ol' witch like her?

Ya have me.

The blankets were ripped off to reveal that thin, mangled and weathered body of the monster in the cornfield, staring down at him with white eyes and a smile that stretched for miles. She was even taller than even his towering granny, seven feet he reckoned. She reached for him with long, broken fingers hidden by burlap. He curled up in his bed, a scream tearing past his throat.

Johnny was jolted into a sitting position by the piercing shout that echoed through the house. Hair matted with sweat and cheeks wet with tears, his eyes pinballed wildly around the empty room. A frazzled mind pieced the events together as he wiped away a tear-stained face. There were no crows, no Scarecrow, no nothing.

"JONATHAN, THIS IS THE LAST TIME-!"

He yelped in his bed, a newfound terror sparking inside him once more. He looked back out that window, only to see her perched up on the cross as she always was. Her head was canted to one side with those black eyes and smile pointed upwards at his window, as if she was speaking directly to him.

You've gone n' done it now.

He gulped, tears streaming anew as his apprehension grew. From the storming footfalls ringing down the hall, marching closer towards him, he knew what was about to come.

Johnny.

Why am I scarier than her?

"Get her away from me…"

Jervis pulled away from the phone, raising a brow for a brief second, swiftly realizing it must have been another one of his babbles.

"The hospital? Why, Dormouse, you're about as mad as I am!" he spat, letting a panicked groan escape him. "What are you talking about?" Riddler challenged, clearly as cognizant of their lack of time as the Hatter, or so he thought. "He's a part of the tea party; they'd have him die in the state he's in! It would be like putting a white rose in a red rose bush!" the Mad Hatter shrieked, the weight of their predicament weighing down heavily on his mental state. He laughed at his own perturbed thoughts, his reasoning and judgement a dither as he fell back to his old coping habits. "And if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know." A sharp laugh followed Jervis', rising from the speared Jonathan, who jerked and spasmed for a few moments despite his clear injury. Without the hindrance of pain, there was no stopping the type of damage that could be inflicted by his own actions. "Whoa whoa, Hatter, 'you shan't be beheaded!'" Edward replied on instinct, knowing the line off of the top of his head as one of the few quotes from the book that was effective in roping the madman back into reality. A few unintelligible noises were babbled, but Tetch somehow stayed with him. "As much as it hinders us, you're probably right," conceded the Riddler, "so I believe I know a way, but you need to get Jonathan into a car and drive like a bat out of hell. Or a mome rath out of Jabberwocky or what have you. Tracing the location of your phone, you're a good half an hour from Gotham, and right now, that's certainly looking like your best option."

As Nygma spoke to him, Tetch was already climbing out of the embankment. There on the road he saw the blasted car that had impacted their vehicle. The owner stood just outside the door, inspecting his car for damage. It looked to be a superior vehicle to their own, despite it now having a large dent in its front and causing cracks to spider up the windshield. Before the man could even turn around, a card was slipped behind his ear. "Off yourself. Make it painful," muttered the impatient hat-maker, already shuffling through the interior of the car to find things of use. The man left his presence, leaving him with total control of the ride now in his possession.

Finding a blanket, Jervis hastily made his way back to the bleeding Jonathan, returning just in time to hear him mutter "get her away from me" once more under choking breaths. Nearly tearing the car door of the frame to access the passenger seat, Jervis eagerly began tearing the blanket into thick strips. "Don't worry, March Hare," he assured hurriedly, taking in the daunting metal blade that had imbedded itself in his friend's chest, "you'll be right as rain in no time! We just need to get that nasty thorn out of your paw and you'll act like the lion you are once again." Taking in a shuddering breath, he gripped the broken tang of the metal, only backtracking when he heard Edward cry, "Wait wait, you aren't going to try and pry the thing out, are you?" Tetch couldn't help the indecipherable babbles of frustration. "Is that so wrong? If you saw a knife in dear Dinah, wouldn't you want to take it out?" Figuring Edward knew best, however, he handed the pieces of cloth to Jonathan. "Put pressure around the wound," he ordered quickly, thankful to see he still retained some control in Jonathan's broken state when he complied and focused force on the slowly growing stain.

"For one, none of us are privy on how to take out an object of that size from the human torso," Edward explained, still refusing to be economic in his language despite the direness of the situation, "and even though I'm sure I could achieve it with ease, I doubt I could direct you over the phone. You'd probably mistake his intestines for the caterpillars hookah pipe in your sta-"

"Dormouse, our dear lovely Hare is dying. I'd rather not hear one of your stories at the moment," Jervis reminded, wrapping an arm around Jonathan's back and the other scooping under his legs whilst the phone was tucked on his shoulder. With a deep breath, he heaved the man into his arms, easily trekking back up the embankment. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord, my soul to keep," he could hear spouting from Jonathan in hushed whispers. "Speak roughly to your little boy, and bear him when he sneezes!" the Hatter laughed in retaliation, a spurt of madness taking over as he nearly gave into the voices. "Hatter!" The sharp admonishment snapped Jervis back into reality, reminding him that now was no time to be volatile. "Just get him to a vehicle. I'm still searching my files," Edward commanded, but at that point Jervis was back on the highway. "Halfway there," the Hatter spoke. "The blasted knob jockey who hit us thankfully left his car." Nygma paused, clearly opening his mouth to speak on the other end, but noticeably decided to divagate to another subject. "Wait, are you carrying him?" A affirming "hmmm" met his question. "How are you-?"

"Oh pish posh, Dormouse, he's as light as a feather," Hatter said simply, actually able to jog his way to the car. He sat Jonathan in the passenger's seat, sharply rounding the car and slumping himself in the driver's seat. "And down will come baby, cradle and all!" the dying man suddenly shouted with a spasmic laugh. "Oh my, we really do need to talk more about your childhood," Hatter sighed, wasting no time in getting the car back in track, bringing the needle to the opposing end of the dial with the intent to kill that gas pedal. In his panic he nearly found himself driving on the wrong side of the road, quickly steering the car in to right direction. "Americans. Drive on the left side of the road like everybody else," he growled in his agitations. "We're heading back to Wonderland. Dormouse, tell me a story, mainly about where I should be going right now."

"I'll be taking you though a route to get to him quicker," Riddler responded, the typing ceasing. At least it would divert the Batman off of their trail. "You'll be taking a right when you reach the next intersection."

"'Him'? Not that I don't trust your discernment, dear mouse, but who is 'him'?" Jervis questioned, focusing on Edward instead of the tricks in his mind. To that, the Riddler followed it up with an invention of a coded rebus just for him.

"The mammal, the man, the Greek repleted play, I take the flesh of man and I mold it like clay. What am I?"

Oh if he could only see the thin-lipped glower being thrown the road's way. "Riddler," he said flatly, a tone usually reserved for mothers ready to chide a child in denial. "Oh you have about thirty minutes until you reach him. Thankfully he's in the more secluded slums of Gotham. You have time," Nygma encouraged, a lackadaisical tone edging into his words. "Besides, a few brainteasers will keep that reverie at bay. You want to know, don't you?"

"I'm going to remember this the next time my hands get ahold of my poleax," Jervis replied, letting out a soft groan as his head was rocked by another hit of pain. "Ugh. Ow… let's see… mammal. Man. Play. Man-Bat? No, certainly not. Oh this better not be some politician or some local Gotham celebrity. You know I'm not so well-versed in those types of circles."

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out by now," Riddler taunted, although his usual haughty attitude was toned down given he was a) helping a dying man, and b) among fellow villains. "It's practically child's play! Though, I suppose it would only make sense; the only riddles you fancy are found in books and forgo the answers. Remember, you should never include…"

"You should exclude," Jervis finished, thoughts rushing. Nygma was right: despite his frustrating games, Jervis was being distracted from the stress of Jonathan right beside him. At this point he had even tuned out from the constant muttering of rhymes the obstreperous Scarecrow had subjected him to. Had he not had Edward there, the stress would have more than likely seeped into his mind and cause an uncontrollable episode that would leave with a dead March Hare. Ed knew what he was doing, even if he was making Hatter want to outgribe like a mome rath during a Jabberwocky.

"Wait," he said suddenly, the puzzle clicking together. "Mome raths! That's it!" Edward's addlepated reaction was evident from the loud "um" he gave on the other end. "Oh, you're leading me to the good Professor Pyg!" Jervis cheered, newfound hope in the dire situation. "Well, I mean, that's the answer," Nygma replied after a few seconds. "Very good, even though I can't quite connect how you came to that conclusion."

"Your riddle, silly," Hatter tittered, taking another glance at Jonathan to ensure he would live, as if his will alone would keep his friend alive. "Oh how a Dormouse loves his stories! You're a genius! You couldn't be more pleasanter at this moment. I feel so frabjous I could shove you in a teapot!"

"Oh please not again," Edward groaned under his breath. Realizing Jervis was once again losing his contact with reality, he kept talking. "Pyg's the only one we know, perhaps besides Hush, that knows how to keep someone still alive on the operating table. He has all the equipment needed to keep Jonathan going. You just need to get to him in time." He failed to mention how short on time they really were, but only because he knew the slithy bastard would still live. Jonathan and the rest of the residents of Arkham's most well-guarded wing were like cockroaches compared to the rest of the world. It almost seemed unthinkable for someone as seemingly immortal a man as Jonathan to just bleed out and die like some victim in a dark alley. Even Nygma cringed at the thought; dying from a crash because you stabbed yourself with your own weapon. It all just seemed too degrading and humiliating for their caliber of infamy.

"Hey, what is that sound?" Edward suddenly asked, leading Jervis to look over in brief confusion at the only man who was making any sound in the passing moments of silence on the road. "Jonathan," Jervis answered with a tired sigh. "Like I said, he's… not all there." He bit his lip, letting out a tense groan. "Oh dear, he's nearly madder than I!" Jonathan twitched, hand pressing down on the wound with a force like no other, mindlessly whispering a repeated phrase.

"Get him away from me…"

Tetch grimaced at it all, letting his worry nearly consume his thoughts. "Get what away from you, Hare?" he could only say, knowing that he couldn't be heard, or at least registered in that moment.

Jonathan jerked in a fashion that could almost be considered a convulsion. "He put her in a pumpkin shell, and there he kept her very well." He let out a high giggle, before going back to his susurrus and staring at the road without thought. Blood dribbled down his chin as he visibly took in deeper breaths, but other than that, he just concentrated on whatever was before him. "Jesus Jervis, what did you do to him?" Edward asked over the phone.

Jervis didn't reply initially, taking his eyes off the road to stare at the broken man in the passenger seat. Those dark, unsound thoughts surfaced back in his mind, and so he had to scold himself for all the things he had considered doing while Jonathan was under. "I…" He stopped, feeling sick in that moment. His hands unconsciously tapped the steering wheel in those slow intervals to assuage his overturned stomach. A deep frown found its way onto his expression, realizing not only what he had done, but what he had been going to do had Jonathan himself hadn't unconsciously stopped him. He just wished it had been in a way other than crashing the damn car.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he murmured, focusing back at the road as he was forced to deal with his own grievance.

"Get him away from me…"

"Jon! Where are ya, Jon?"

Jonathan didn't give the curtesy of even turning around, knowing if he did it would damn near be his last polite act. Under the thin cover of darkness, he ducked into the cornfield, silently praying to whatever would listen that he wouldn't be found.

"He's somewhere in the cornfield, I reckon. That's where I saw him."

"Jon! Come out ya beanpole! You aren't scared of guns, are ya? It's just a BB!"

Jonathan felt his heart race a mile a minute, carelessly pushing his glasses further up his nose despite one eye of the frame being too damaged to properly hold in the lens. He grimaced when shaking fingers touched that forming bruise under his eye, skimming along its defined edge to properly consider how much the injury would spread along his cheek by the next day. At the appearance of headlights cutting through the cornfield, he knew he needed to move. Reluctantly he migrated deeper into field, thankfully able to find his way through after years of working them. At the sound of their taunts and jeers, he lowered his head and ducked deeper into the field, all up until he came across that large, towering figure that guarded the farmland. No longer a young boy, the height of the timeworn Scarecrow was far less threatening, but still daunting in a way that teased his most primal fears, no matter how far he buried them. Weather and age had not been kind to him, tearing up clothing and taking out chunks of hay from the main parts of his body. Even that hat of his had blown off, and that bit had specifically been sewn on. He would almost look pathetic if it wasn't for that mental image of him climbing off that cross to crawl through Jonathan's window to drag him away. His head sagged downwards, black eyes staring directly into Jonathan's.

About time ya came to fix me up.

"Shut your mouth," Jonathan hissed, looking back at where he had come with a steadying heart rate. No one as of yet, he thought thankfully.

"C'mon, Crane, we're just jokin' around!"

"Yeah, Ichabod. Just c'mon out. No need to go runnin' back to your corn, ya hick."

"Where the fuck'd that rube run off to? C'mon, he's probably over here."

Tears threatened his eyes at the humiliation of it all, angrily wiping then with a dirtied sleeve. He was breathing hard, he realized, almost to the point where he found it hard to breathe. His back coming against the wooden pole that held up the Scarecrow, he slumped into a sitting position, knees brought up to his chest as he tried desperately to dry his eyes.

Hey.

He blinked, looking up at the monster. The monster in question stared forward as usual, head sloped to one side and the stitching to his mouth gone slack from a few too many nights in the rain. He hadn't been fixed since his Great-Grandmother had installed him into the fields, and upon seeing him so close in the night, Jonathan almost felt sorry for the level of damage that had befallen him. Had he not been in the situation he was already in, he would have considered tending to the Scarecrow.

He gave him his attention, bringing up a sleeve again to wipe away his wet vision.

Are you honestly crying right now?

Jonathan's cheeks burned as he looked away in frustration. His heartbeat refused to slow for him, his instincts on full alarm. First his peers, and now the Scarecrow.

You're letting them do this to you?

"An' what would yew have me do?" Jonathan brayed with a hush leveling the intensity of his voice, unable to prevent the stream of tears that inevitably broke his vision. Breathing labored, all he could do now to stop his own chagrin was keep his mouth shut and pray they went away. These men had far too much time of their hands, however, and sadistic intentions tended to outlast his will to stay hidden for so long. He jumped in his spot upon hearing the shot of a pellet gun in the air, clamping a hand over his mouth and letting his terror run high as he heard the laughing of the men hunting him down. They had obviously been trying to scare his location out, but with a hand clamped around his own mouth, he had been able to prevent giving himself up as potential target practice. When another shot ran out, he had to actively bite down on his sleeve to keep himself from reacting to the obvious bait.

The scythe is in the took shed.

"Are you suggestin' Ah kill them?" he asked incredulously, now alarmed by the Scarecrow and his sudden change in methodology. 'F course not, though it's not like we're doin' the world any favors by keepin' them around. Jonathan glared up at him, his thoughts about the ordeal already made clear. Even still, those nagging dark thoughts surfaced from the back of his mind, if even only slightly.

Take my face.

Jonathan stared up at the frozen, burlap visage, unresponsive to the command. Show them the same fear they inflict upon you. Give them a taste of what you suffer through each day. That worn burlap would certainly do well to double as a frightening mask. Jonathan's fingers twitched, feeling that almost intimate urge to follow through. He heard another shot ring through the air and lurched only slightly, a glower forming behind broken glasses as that familiar rise of anger and hatred bubbled from deep inside him. Just once he wanted to have the upper-hand; be the harbinger of that same fear he had been subjected to his entire life. Toxic emotions continued to brew within him as they did every day, wanting so desperately to give in to that voice that urged some of his most sinful and disgusting thoughts. Despite all those deadly thoughts that stewed in his mind, he couldn't help how greatly his hands shook when he reached up to follow through. Tears streamed further, this time brought about by frustration over his own cowardice.

If you won' do it, I will.

"An' how do ya plan to get down from there?" Jonathan scoffed through his tears. A gasp nearly left upon seeing the rays of a flashlight shine past the thick walls of crops.

"Hey, I think he's over here! Hey, Jon! I though you were scared a' scarecrows!"

That sudden struggle to breathe returned as he nearly choked on his own fear, leaping to his feet despite the pain to his side from having been unwilling target practice minutes earlier. "Get away from me," he begged under his breath. "Get him away from me…"

I will. Eventually.

Jonathan scrambled away, his fear renewed. It would all end, he knew. Eventually. That's what he told himself every day for the past decade or so, praying to a God he wasn't sure he could believe in anymore that it would all disappear. He didn't want revenge, he wanted to be left alone. That's what he repeated like scripture each day. Yet it was revenge that had consumed his mind moments before.

When I do, we'll do it together.

"By the by, how in the name of Queen Alice did you find him?" Jervis had to ask, relieved to see those familiar white dots of Gotham's lights in the distance. "Oh you underestimate me," laughed the Riddler. "Take a left at Hargrove Street. Anyhow, I have the location of most villains in Gotham. Its all about knowing who buys properties and their usage and whatnot. Back before I became the Riddler, I used to assist a few shady men by being a bit of a go-between when it came to purchasing properties for various dubious needs. You know how it is." "Ah, you used to be an information broker to those types of fiends," Tetch recalled fondly, knowing Edward had a less-than-clean reputation before he adopted the green question mark. "The best of my kind," Riddler crowed. "I still hold onto knowledge of who owns what, mostly in case I need a bit of space of my own. Usually the only criminals I can't track are ones that decide to go about using abandoned buildings or using the illegal route. That always made you more than difficult to find."

Tetch had no time to smirk when he heard Jonathan wheeze out another cough. His breathing had only strained further, and despite their best efforts, that blood pool was growing dangerously large. Nygma had been right about the scythe; had it been pulled out without expertise, Jonathan would have most likely bled out in a matter of minutes. Now he had a fighting chance, even if it was Edward and Jervis that had to do all the fighting for him. "Get him away from me…" Tetch frowned at those words, wondering what sort of delusions the man was having.

"You're just ten minutes away," Edward reminded him when he was met with silence. "He's going to be just fine. I mean, it's Jonathan. You could behead him and he would still live on like the roach he is."

"Off with his head!" Jervis laughed softly, trying to keep his mind on the road. With cars now plentiful along the path to Gotham, he was forced to slow it down, even if it was just a tad. He was sure he had still broken many laws just trying to get where he needed, but right now a speeding ticket was of no concern to him.

"Anyways, I recognized one of Lazlo's old aliases when an old building was bought off. Chances are he's there, as he's had yet to return to Arkham," Riddler continued to explain, recognizing that Jervis needed to be in a clear state of mind if he was going to confront the Professor. He tapped randomly on his keyboard, releasing a heavy sigh. "The more I stay at home, the safer you feel. What am I?"

"He's not going to stuff the good Hare, is he?" Tetch had to ask, ignoring the riddle in hopes he would catch on to his silent criticism of Edward's less than appropriate attitude; this was no time for riddles. When he heard that initial sound of confusion, he clarified with, "Are you sure he won't make him into a doll?"

"No no, of course not," Edward assured him, despite sounding pretty one hundred percent unsure. "Pyg likes you, I know that. Well, as much as that madman can like another without turning them into genderless zombies. You're both into turning people into mindless dolls; he's just a bit more permanent with his. I'm sure you can convince him. Besides, I'm sure Jonathan's way too substandard for his tastes. Just as you come up just short."

Jervis may not have been too well-versed in all of Riddler's quips, but he knew a play at his height when he heard one. "Just so long as you don't mention me to that culmination of Two-Face's fever dreams, we're going to be fine," Nygma continued, sounding as though he was leaning back in his chair. Jervis was less than pleased with his friend's flippant tone.

"Perhaps I should tell Dr. Pyg just how I came to know his location. I'm sure you know just how much he hates being interrupted," the Hatter suggested, casually with a hum. A lurch was heard over the phone. "You. Wouldn't. Dare," Nygma warned, his voice becoming serious as he took immense weight in that threat. "Unlike Jonathan and I, you're perfectly average in height, build, very little scars…" Jervis went on, feigning innocence as Edward clearly became more riled up over the phone. "Jervis, I swear to you-" He finished with an indecipherable bundle of various threats. It was really no secret between the three of them that Edward was absolutely terrified of the surgeon, as Scarecrow had gleefully come to find out. While fairly harmless back in the Asylum, a run-in with the madman outside their walls left Nygma hurling into the trashcan at the very thought of him. Fear really is quite the power, Tetch thought. "Oh, if I simply mentioned your name, I'm sure he would be simply galumphing to see you!"

"I'm going to galumph my foot up your-"

"If our dear, delightful, dying Hare meets his end because of your decision to send him to the Duchess, you shall do no such thing," Jervis scoffed, oh so matter-of-factly, "for I, as much as it pains me to say such mimsy threats, will make sure Pyg scrambles that precious brain of yours into a mush thin enough to spread on my bread at tea time."

"He tried to kill me!"

"And he spared you."

"Oh heavens, what a saint!"

Tetch raised his eyes to peer at the street signs, quickly turning as Nygma had instructed and onto the dingy road that Pyg was said to be residing. "You won't have to worry about it, I'm sure," Jervis replied in a softened tone. "I trust your judgement. If I didn't, I wouldn't have called you."

"You're a sick man, Hatter," was all Edward could reply with. "We are what we are," Tetch smiled, melodically tapping the steering wheel without missing a beat. "God, you two are perfect for each other." The Hatter opened his mouth to spit back, but in the end just bit his lip and let Edward finish. "Turn into the old factory. That's where he should be staying."

"You know, if Jonathan were in your position and you in his, I would have threatened him all the same," Jervis defended, pulling into the lot. He paused to consider his next words, but not for too long and he went to quickly pulling the keys out. "Thank you, Dormouse."

"Consider this even between me and him. It's all on you now. Good luck," Edward spoke, before hanging up the call.

Jervis was not a man to waste time; he didn't need to be more late than he already was. Letting out a shuddering sigh, he turned to his companion with a gesture to the building. "And that's the jury-box." He raised his gaze up to the building itself, noticing a few still faces filling the window closest to them. He licked his lips, hoping none of Crane's toxic fumes were getting to him. "And those twelve creatures…" He looked over at Jonathan, hoping he would finish it with Alice's line. His March Hare was growing deathly pale, no longer bothering to look at him in favor of staring at the nothing straight ahead. "Get him away from me…" was all he could whisper to whatever imaginary fiend he was seeing. "Oh dear, the doctor will fix you up," Jervis squeaked in worry, scrambling out of the car and going around to retrieve Jonathan. He frowned in momentary puzzlement when Crane waved a hand wildly at him when the door was opened, as if to startle him away, but he soon halted his efforts and once again let the hypnotist bring him into his arms. Those faces left the window as he went about running up to the double doors of the forsaken factory. With a foot he pushed open the entrance open with ease, letting the light of the streets flood the darkened opening and pull out a few outlines of men in the shadows. Hatter stopping so suddenly when faced with the staring blank canvases that were Pyg's dollotrons. If they hadn't turned to look at them initially, they could have completely passed for statues. Plastic faces, a mess of red hair, still expressions from painstaking surgical work done on their bodies, and a clear lack of intelligence or thought with all the damage done to their minds. "Oh my," Jervis murmured under his breath, eyes wide at their appearance. There were only three, but he really only needed one to find the old friend. He almost felt sick at the sight, a sudden wave of doubt enveloping him. The hatter nearly considered actually taking Jonathan to the hospital, but he snapped himself out of it, realizing he just wasn't in the right mindset. He couldn't stop himself from laughing suddenly in the presence of these dolls that were once actual human beings, letting that madness overtake his mind. "Why, the Duchess' children are looking fairer than ever!" he proclaimed with a jovial grin, skipping over to them with a tight grip on the thin man in his arms. "Could you be a good sounder of swine and take me to the just-as-good Duchess?" The dollotrons stared blankly, before one turned and began to saunter their way to another room. Hatter smiled and followed suit, waving goodbye to the other dollotrons with a gleeful shake of his foot.

Upon entering the upper level operating room, Mad Hatter was treated to quite the show: bright fluorescent installed into a cracking ceiling, casting their rays on a single surgical table in a sea of black, surrounded by various medical tools and equipment needed to keep a living being alive. Dried blood stained the floor, the only telltale remnants of what was once human. He wouldn't have been surprised if that very blood was from the very man (to be honest, he couldn't tell if they were ever once a man or a woman) that had led them to the spot. In the center of that light, sitting on a stool and inspecting his gloves, was the beastly doctor himself. His unusual pig mask obscuring a majority of his face save for his mouth, his emotions were indecipherable with an exception to the gentle humming of a distant tune within his mind. His apron was soiled with blood that had dried long ago, and from the looks of the medical equipment laid out so neatly, he was about to perform another operation.

At the sound of their approach, the thing once known as that brilliant surgeon, Lazlo Valentin, snapped his head up. As Hatter stepped into the light with the dollotron at his side and the Scarecrow in his arms, Pyg seemed to grow wary. "Tetch?" he spoke in vague recognition, a hand reaching for the drill on one of the trays. Hatter grinned madly, reciting, "You can't think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!"

Pyg stopped, seemingly brightening up at his words. "The Hat Man!" he cheered, rising up from his seat and galumphing over gladly. "Oh my oh my oh my, Pyg is always joyful to see another admirer of his work, as well as another true sycophant to Mother Goat!" He seemed to finally notice the dying Jonathan in his arms. Without hesitation, he reached forward to scoop up his newest patient with a pleased snort. Jervis found himself a bit reluctant to let go, but willingly gave the injured man to the doctor. "Coming to Pyg with the bag of bones layered with sinew and skin?" Immediately Valentin beckoned the dollotron. "The reagents. Thank you, my perfect." As the doll stumbled away, he turned his attention to Jonathan, immediately hooking him up to the heart rate monitor. That rapid beeping showed the Hare was terrified, and in return it shook the Hatter, further enveloping him in his own madness as the voices he had tried so hard to drown out spoke to him of death. They lit up when they saw the dollotron with small vials, each with their own little dropper, but their glee wasn't out of hope. How grand it would be to have a doll like that, the Cheshire Cat would tell him. Perhaps a March Hare? He shrunk back from the disgusting nature of his own thoughts, shaking his head as if it would somehow rid him of them.

"Tell me, tell Pyg! What can Pyg do for the Mad Hatter?" Pyg requested, taking a separate dropper to soak up some of Jonathan's blood and drip them into separate petri dishes. "It appears I need a favor," Hatter spoke, standing on the tips of his toes in order to get a higher view of the soon-saved man. "In return for anything you need!"

"Ah, I see, I see; Pyg sees the truth in the…" the larger man sneered at Crane's mangled body, "… imperfection you have laid before Pyg and our dear Mother Goat." He let out a hearty laugh, patting Hatter on the back with a smile. "You want the straw man to become perfect!" There was a pause to scoff as he dropped in a different reagent into each sample of blood, watching some immediately thin with a simple stir of a curette. "Get Pyg O negative!" he called to his doll. O negative? Well, his Hare certainly was a rare breed. Hatter wouldn't be surprised if the favor Pyg asked him to return was having Jonathan donate blood to him every now and then. With how many bodies he regularly worked on, he would certainly need it. "Retrieve the other beautifuls as well! Pyg is soon to make… art! Another perfect!" He set aside the mini blood test to prepare the IV. "Of course of course, not Pyg's perfect, not Mother's perfect, but your perfect! The Mad Hat Man's special brand of perfection! You have come to the proper artist! Pyg folds flesh like clay. Pyg can make a stunner out of a straw man; a siren out of a scarecrow! A March Hare out of a miscreant?" Dark, wild eyes met Hatter's own as Jervis found himself eagerly taking in the suggestions of the man. "This is your favor, is it not?"

Hatter will admit: he had a moment. A moment where his mouth went to form the beginnings of a "y", nearly giving into the mad voices in his head. For once, however, he forced his mouth to wrench shut, internally screaming at his own twisted thoughts for even considering such an atrocity. His lower lip bled from the amount of forced applied, the will to stop himself from making such a decision overpowering those filthy thoughts within his head. "No… no no," he spoke softly, voice cracking. This caught the other by surprise, characterized by the sudden squeal engendered by the refusal. "I prefer the March Hare as he is!" Jervis explained after a deep, shaky exhale. "I simply need you to fix him— in the usual sense, of course!" He gestured to the blade that stuck out from Jonathan's torso. "That is the main problem, you see. I need him to get better, please!"

Pyg seemed dissatisfied, given the annoyed snort that erupted from behind that mask. The three dollotrons returned, vaguely recognizing it was time to operate after handing him the packet of blood, as one immediately removed a bone saw from a distant tray and stood by over the body. "Fine fine. Pyg does not usually deal with the menial or the subpar— Mother Goat only asks perfection!— but for you, Pyg shall make an exception and grant you this favor!"

As Pyg momentarily left to retrieve a retractor, neither man noticed the large, looming figure that stood over the operating table, peering down at The patient and listening to his heart beat rapidly enough to fill a gallon within a minute.

Scared? Jonathan gasped for breath, his vision dark, and yet still clinging to that small bit of light that kept him on this world. Unable to answer, he could only stare up at them with a terror that had been foreign to both for a number of years. They're going to put you under, Johnny.An unintelligible sound spilled from his blood-tainted mouth. All he could taste was that iron what was forced back down his throat after being coughed up from his airways. Their large, white eyes seemed to glow brighter than the surgical lights themselves. He could vividly feel that cold touch of burlap against his skin, the glove clutching at his face as his fear ramped. He tried to say something; anything, really.

"Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye, four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie." Jervis looked over at him curiously, not noticing Scarecrow or how they glared so fiercely at his small figure. Jonathan just wanted to scream, unable to break himself from this cycle. Memories of his past would flash before his mind, and as soon as he played through them, they were forgotten. He refused to follow the Hatter's commands, and yet he was happy to become obsequious as soon as they were mentioned. His mind felt melted, slowly oozing like treacle as he barely felt able to think. I know you still like your little friend. Scarecrow tilted their head, turning their attention back to their only captive audience. Leaning their head in close, they were practically nose to nose. If you so dearly want to keep his mind intact, he better pray he never meets me for what he's doing to you. Jonathan saw Jervis' worried face in his peripherals, tears springing to his eyes as he gasped for more air. Terror filled him as he looked back into those bright spotlights, silently begging to be released from his constant state of torment. I thought we were past this. Jonathan forced himself to look away as Pyg arrived. All you truly need is me.

Pyg had just injected Jonathan with a dose of paralytic drug to keep him still, and was certainly surprised when a weak arm gripped his wrist like iron. "Get him away from me… please," Jonathan begged, the desperation in his voice shocking Jervis. "Do not worry, for Pyg will save you!" the professor declared, bringing out a scalpel and a bone cutter. Jonathan's eyes widened to the size of Scarecrow's when he saw a scalpel approach his chest. Scarecrow themselves couldn't help the look of shock crossing their artificial face. He wouldn't dare.

"Duchess!" Hatter screeched, halting the professor, who looked over with a hidden expression of puzzlement. "Anesthesia!" he reminded the doctor with a jittery laugh. Pyg lowered his tools with a groan/snort (a grort, he thought). With reluctance, he moved to grab the anesthesia he only used for rare cases. "Oh, and Pyg." The countenance of utter agitation translated far beyond the restraints of that still mask of his. Hatter grinned sheepishly. "Would it be too much to ask that your tools stay above the belt?" Pyg just let out a hog's grunt as he brought back the anesthesia, activating the gas and placing it over his patient's airways. "The Hatter is lucky— very fortunate indeed! —that Mother Goat shows favor for him," was all he said.

Jonathan's vision blurred, darkened, and with the last images of Scarecrow smiling down at him now burned deep into his memory, it faded as well.

"What were you thinking?" Jervis snapped at himself, repeatedly thumping his own head with the heel of his wrist. "I don't think- then you shouldn't talk!" Interrupting his own words with more nonsense quotes, it was all he had to keep himself stable. "People who don't think shouldn't talk." He stood outside the operating room, scolding his own thoughts as a dollotron sat silently beside him. Despite the fact that they could not think or feel, Hatter still preferred one beside him for imaginary emotional support; he just needed someone to vent to.

"Oh my, could you imagine if I had slipped? If I had said yes?" Jervis groaned, letting out a whimper as a headache racked his mind; the worst one he'd had in a while, he noted regretfully. "Oh dear," he groaned, "I could never forgive myself." Well, forever is a very bold term, he knew, before shaking his head. "No no, oh gracious me!" He took in a shaky sigh. "Oh, could you imagine the Dormouse's reaction if I had gone through?" He could already picture Edward's confusion turned horror at a "fixed" March Hare. Hatter felt the urge to vomit then, simply out of disgust for himself instead of the act that would have followed through. This was because, despite his denials, he was quite used to the idea. Lazlo and he had shared many secrets of their trade, and yes, the thought of taking up that offer had crossed his mind only once, maybe twice, but no more. Well, up until a few hours ago, of course. They were only fantasies, he reprimanded himself, but he was ashamed of the ideas and unsound desires that had crossed his mind when Crane had been under his control; thoughts he couldn't share with anyone, not even the sick man that had once been his doctor. The scariest bit was what would have occurred had he been any deeper in his own delusions; he didn't think he would have been able to stop himself.

With a shuddering breath, he looked over at the dollotron assigned to keep him company. "What do you think?" The doll stared at him silently, before slowly raising a thumb up to him.

Jervis was surprised when the door opened and out exited Lazlo, wiping fresh blood onto his apron after a job well done. "Professor Pyg has completed his work," he proclaimed. "Not his best work, for sure, but for the Hatter, he can downgrade."

"Already?" Tetch asked, surprised at the rapid rate at which his Hare was cured. It had really only been an hour and a half after Pyg had started, leading Hatter to become wary. "How efficient. Is he…?"

Valentin gestured him to follow, allowing him to enter the operating room to take a gander himself. To Tetch's immense relief, the Hare lived. He was roughly stitched up, the bloody blade of that wicked scythe lying beside the operating table. He was still breathing, with the aid of a ventilator. How Valentin was able to get ahold of all this equipment was hard to comprehend, but Jervis could only be thankful that the third member of the tea party would live to hop another day, along with the noticeable fact that none of the scars led anywhere worrying. It looks like Lazlo had kept his promise, which he found to frankly be a miracle. He was not in the proper state of mind to deal with the stress of a castration at the moment.

"He's alive," Hatter gasped with renewed verve. Skipping over, he quickly examined the unconscious Jonathan. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it," he grinned, turning to Pyg. "And the moral there is that you're absolutely brilliant, oh I could kiss you if you weren't covered in blood." Pyg seemed satisfied with his own work, letting out a laugh and a squeal of joy. "Now that you've helped me, I fear I must warn you," Jervis confessed, catching the Professor's attention. "The Batman is on my trail. No doubt he'll track Jonathan and I to this very cozy abode of yours." The grunt from his associate was nearly threatening. "I apologize dearly. It may be in your best interest if you and your dollotrons disappear for a couple of days, or at least until you and your dear children are in the clear from the Jabberwock's gaze!"

Lazlo's displeased disposition was evident, but he nodded and ordered his three children to pack up necessities, seeing as the Circus of the Strange was going back on the road again.

"Don't move the straw man until he has returned to this imperfect world," Valentin instructed as his dollotrons began loading their things into his van in the back. "He needs that ventilator until he returns, in which you can remove the tube and leave, as he will be able to breathe on his own.

Jervis nodded, taking the words into deep consideration as Lazlo and his boys/girls/somethings were all packed up within an hour. Jervis was still sitting by Jonathan's side when they left, and as two more hours passed and the threat of Batman grew, he still sat by. He fretted that if he moved him, Jonathan would die, and so he simply waited for nature to take its course. Pyg had said it would take a few hours, but it felt like an eternity. A watched pot never boils, he was forced to remind himself, and so he decided to busy himself by going to the break room of the building and boiling an actual pot of water, waiting to see which would rise first. He thought to make tea, but knowing he had nothing to produce it, he simply had himself a nice warm cup of water after waiting a lifetime for the water to bubble. He couldn't help his impatience, and so he took to reciting his favorite book, in French, as waited and took to getting himself that hot cup. He poured a glass for Jonathan, too, knowing he could be downright thirsty when he awoke.

To Tetch's glee, it had been Jonathan to wake first, as he was laid, wide-eyed on the table when he got back. Jervis grinned, running over and spilling a hefty amount of water, but not caring all the same as he freed Crane from that ventilator. Jonathan jerked in reaction, shivering from the cold air, he believed. "Hare, you're awake!" he grinned, the cup set aside as he hopped onto the table with a mad grin. "Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whispers! Oh my dear old thing, you- ah!" Jervis fell off the table when the man taking up a majority of its space twisted away in spite of the immense amounts of pain he must be feeling. Tetch rose to his feet, confusion clearly evident. "March Hare?"

"Ladybug, ladybug fly away home, your house is on fire, your children will burn," Jonathan whispered in that wispy tone, curling up slightly in his position. His gaze rose to something above him that Tetch could not see. "Get him away from me," he begged, twisting in his very spot.

Jonathan shuddered, his mind trying to recall where he was or even who he was, but everything came up short. "Get him away from me," he repeated once more, shaking and shivering as he turned away from the light that shone down on him.

Jervis felt his heart sink at the recited quote, having hoped that the surgery and a rest would have be rid him of the hypnotist's control. At this point, he was no longer the March Hare, but a man curled up on the operating table like a mere child.

Hopeful, Tetch brought out his pocket watch, setting it to tick loudly. "Now, March Hare, I-" He had to pause, noticing that Jonathan had suddenly become far more talkative, susurration to himself starting up as soon as he tried to end the trance.

"Listen to the sound of the tick," Jervis requested in spite of the whispers, gaining only a shudder in response and further mutterings. Still, he decided to continue as he ignored the growing sense of worry within his chest. "Match the sound to the tempo of your breathing," he spoke, watching the heart rate monitor carefully. "Match the tick to the beat of your heart." He gulped, noticing that the beeping of the monitor had yet to slow as it was supposed to. It beat even faster than it had when he was first brought in, as if his body was constantly pumping more adrenaline into his system. It was like he was in this constant state of… "No," he denied, his grip on his pocket watch tightening as his own worry began to weigh like a dead weight within his own chest. "You're not scared. You can't be. You told me yourself you can't feel fear anymore!" he tittered shrilly, begging for another reason to Jonathan's state. "Oh I ought to smack you for being such a lying rabbit."

Crane jolted, the whisperings only growing louder. No longer rhymes, he noted, but actual words, as if he were holding a conversation with some unknown man in the room. His hands gripped the edges of the table, white-knuckled as if he was in some sort of hidden danger.

"Hare, are you listening to me?" Jervis whispered, rounding the table to face him. He held up that pocket watch, noticing how Jonathan's eyes trained on it immediately. "As I was saying, I want you to listen to the tick," he tried again, this time with the Hare's full attention.

"… you're back here again, with the breaking and pushing and hurting. Give me a good reason not to…"

Tetch was caught off his guard when he caught a sudden glimpse of whatever delusion Jonathan had immersed himself in. "Match… match it to your breathing," he continued, silently hoping it would cease the Hare's impulses. If anything, it only increased his rapid breathing.

"… he doesn't know you like I do, Johnny. He would never…"

Jervis paused, brow furrowed. "Who in all of Wonderland are you…?" He stopped himself, trying to get back to the task at hand. "Match the tick to your- to your hearbea-"

"He broke you, so I'll break his neck."

Tetch halted, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead as it dawned on him that he was getting nowhere. He shut the watch, taking Jonathan off of the heart rate monitor. He just couldn't stand that infernal beating. Tetch eventually forced himself to shut the entire thing off, seeing as the long drawl of the single note of death was going to drive him absolutely mad.

"When I count to three, I will absolve my control over you," he tried, now grasping at straws at this point. "You will have no more consuming thoughts about me, understood Hare?" The mutterings never ceased. "Jonathan?" That queasy feeling only grew within his chest as trepidation began to consume him. "One… two…"

"Hatter."

Jervis was startled by the interruption, blinking wildly.

"Can you hear me?"

Tetch blinked in surprise when he realized from Jonathan's intent stare that the words were actually meant for him. "I… I beg your pardon?" he replied, his tone denoting his uncertainty on even answering. He questioned whether if his command had set something off within the March Hare. Jonathan was no longer clutching the table with an iron grip, a slow smile crossing an unexpectedly stolid expression. "Can you hear me?" the question repeated itself. Jervis found himself unable to speak, his face twisted in a slack-jawed look of bewilderment. "It's me." Hatter struggled to understand the meaning behind the words, taking it as more babble from the melted mind of his former doctor. He must have damaged Crane more than originally thought. "Jonathan?" he inquired, knowing that talking was a good sign. To his slow enlightenment, the man shook his head, slow and purposefully. "Your little Hare is out for the evening." A chuckle escaped him, riding on a hard wheeze. "I've wanted to meet you for the longest time, Hatter," he grinned, thinned eyes only showing traces of madness and malice. Hatter realized in that moment that he ought to stop interfering in the intricacies of the madman's mind. They watched each other as he carefully backed towards the door. "The good doctor was always protective of you. Ever since you became his patient." Jervis' hand pressed against the door, opening it as he didn't grace the man with a response. "But he isn't here right now."

A laugh echoed through the empty building as Hatter forced himself out, finding breathing difficult as he fell to his knees. He felt the urge to puke then and there, but rejected that impulse in favor of kneeling on the floor, back against the same doors he had just exited as he tried to regain control of his own breathing. "What did I do?" he whispered, burying his face in his hands as he simply waited for everything to fade away.

An hour had passed before the front doors creaked open. He heard those heavy footsteps climb the stairs, and before long he was within the shadow of the Dark Knight.

Both were silent as Jevis sat back, frazzled mind focusing on a different man in particular. Batman watched him, approaching slowly as Tetch removed his hat and set it on the ground as a sign of his concession. "I don't mean many of the things I do," he croaked, looking down at blood encrusted hands from when he had heaved the Hare around. "At least that's what I tell myself." Batman steadily lowered himself onto a knee, coming to Tetch's level. "Where is he?" he asked softly, fearing the worst had befallen the other villain. Hatter just shook his head and scooted out of the door's way. "I can fix him. I just need time, but…" He trailed off. The Knight grabbed the hat left on the ground and came to a stand, ready to end this once and for all. He gestured for Jervis to follow suit, having realized at this point he was no longer a threat. Tetch looked up at him warily. "I don't quite believe I want to," he confessed, not exactly pleading, but trying to come to terms with what had happened.

"You need to," was all Batman replied with. To this the Hatter just slowly nodded in agreement, rising to his feet with clear reluctance, but nonetheless following suit.

The doors were opened, with Batman being the first to enter and a approach the man lying down on the bloodied operating table. Upon hearing their entrance, Jonathan jolted, his heartbeat quickening as the Dark Knight came closer. The table was gripped with enough force to worry any doctor, and it was clear from the way Crane began to writhe with fear that he was still impervious to all the pain. He had been fixed up by a medical professional, Batman deduced, and from the sight of a roughly-assembled shrine in the dark corner, it had been Lazlo that had assisted the two. With all of Crane's movements, he would undoubtedly reopen old wounds and fracture his bones once again. A hospital visit was all he needed, but at this moment Crane's state could get him killed.

At the sight of the Batman leaning over him, a swell of panic came of Jonathan's expression. "Get him away from me," he whispered, clearly making a move to crawl off of the table and away, but he was impeded by the hero clutching his wrist. "Oracle. Call for an ambulance for Crane," he ordered through the earpiece. "He's alive, but he's delusional. Make sure they restrain him so he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else. Have the doctors see if Tetch will be of any use in breaking him out of his trance before he's sent to Arkham."

"You got it," Barbara spoke on the other end. "Glad this is all finally over." Batman could only silently agree, knowing Jervis was watching him curiously by the door. Reaching into his belt, the crusader pulled out the injector for the antidote he had used on himself at the motel. "Any citizen would agree that you don't deserve this type of mercy," chastised the Bat, "but we need to stabilize you." As the injector approached his neck, his tool was forced to a stop by the two thinner hands that wrapped around his wrist. Jonathan looking into his eyes with a fear he hadn't seen in years, his voice trembling as each croaked word indicated he was in an unending cycle of trepidation. "Get him… away from me," Crane pleaded, hands shaking despite Batman ceasing his efforts to cure him. Bruce came to a slow realization as he looked back, noticing Jervis playing with his thumbs anxiously.

"Jervis. Get him a glass of water," he ordered, knowing the Hatter wouldn't try to run from the scene. Tetch blinked, surprised, but eagerly nodded and left the room without remembering he had already brought in a glass earlier. The moment those doors closed, Jonathan's hands went slack. His breathing died down to a slow, normal pace, and the rapid thumping of his heart seemed to be of no concern when it steadied itself in a matter of two minutes. Batman watched the man lie back, hair matted in exhausted sweat mingled with blood. He slowly put the tool away, silent as he observed Jonathan heavily-lidded eyes shut, hoping to get some sort of rest from his draining emotions.

"Here!" Jervis called, passing through the double doors with a bottle of water for the patient. Immediately Crane's body went back to alarm, kicking at the table under him as Tetch came closer, but Batman refused to let him go.

"Oracle. Get a police car here as well. Jervis needs to be taken directly to Arkham. He and Crane need to be separated," Batman ordered, surprising the milliner. "What? But I…" Jervis looked down at Crane worriedly before fixing his angry gaze at the Batman. "I can fix him! I was the one who put him under, after all."

"You're only harming him," the Dark Knight contradicted, placing his arms under Crane in order to lift him up to carry him downstairs. Jonathan shook, the mutterings to himself starting up again. Jervis frowned deeply, not bothering to hide how the comment affected him. "No no, that's impossible," Tetch denied, letting out a small laugh, setting the glass down as he rapidly tried to come up with an explanation. "Jonathan trusts me! He's just… having a nasty reaction to his toxin, is all."

"He isn't having a bad reaction to the toxin," Batman told him solemnly. "He's having a bad reaction to you."

Jervis opened his mouth to fire back, to shout obscenities and to tell him he had no idea what he was talking about. Nothing ever came out. He could say not a word, as he simply had no idea what to respond. Even when he was taken to the back of the police car, he stayed in grieving silence the entire way through.

Chapter Text

"Niiiinety-seven! Hng- ah -niiiiiinety eight! Eugh! Jeeze, Jerv, lose some- ugh -some god damn weight!"

Jervis looked up from his task with vague amusement, leaning over on his chair to gaze down at the man currently struggling to support his and the chair's mass. The arms holding up the bottom of the chair wobbled, and for a moment both believed he would crash and fall. "Hey hey! Don't lean!" Lynns reprimanded, thankful when Tetch quickly corrected his mistake and assumed an upright position again. With a deep breath, he steadily pressed Jervis and his chair upwards with a distressed call of the number ninety-nine. Realizing he may be bucked off on the finishing number, Jervis quickly placed the hat and needle on the table as he was lowered once more. His eyes lifted from his things when a pair of female legs climbed up onto the tabletop, taking a wide stance. Harleen grinned wildly, bending her knees as she got ready to leap onto Jervis and the chair and subsequently crush Lynns. "Oh Harley, luv, please don't," he whispered with a break of sweat, but Garfield became the stronger voice. "Harley, babe, you're sweet, and we all love ya, but if you jump on that chair I will burn everything you've ever loved." Harley visibly pouted and retreated, but didn't jump off the table just yet.

"C'mon, Gar, you got this," Harvey called half-heartedly from his newspaper, having taken his eyes off of Gotham's recent turmoil to watch Garfield benchpress Jervis. With a sudden thrust upwards, Tetch squeaked as he left the bottom of the chair for a split second, before the chair tilted and he and his seat both tumbled to the ground. "A hundred! Bazinga!" Harley cheered with a double fist pump to the ceiling, obnoxiously hopping repeatedly on the table. The scarred man wheezed, rolling onto his side with arms gone slack. Jervis lifted his head up to look at the guards by the door, one of whom were struggling to remain stoic. The other caught his gaze, resigned to giving him that typical "hey, nothing illegal's happening" shrug. He only took a moment to push himself off the ground, dusting off his uniform with an passive-aggressive smile. "Ah we shoulda had you do me as well," Harley grinned, before hopping off the table. With a tired grunt, Garfield forced himself up to his feet. "I spend a good portion of my criminal career carrying around a giant jetpack that weighs a little less than Jervis, so I can do him easily, but you are just way too fat to carry." He belted out a soft laugh as he was smacked on the arm by the former doctor. His attention was soon turned to the child-like woman this entire spectacle had been for.

Mary Dahl squeaked in surprise when she got an accusing finger in her face. "Alright, a hundred, just like you said. I more than deserve that cookie, so hand it over!" Garfield demanded, his hand splaying out expectantly. Dahl blinked, shifting her gaze away and biting her lip as a child would do when caught in a lie. Despite the burns that decorated Lynns' features, he looked momentarily devastated. "Baby, no…" he groaned under his breath. "I didn't mean to," Mary giggled in that child's voice in an attempt to seem adorable. That frustrated glare broke her façade, bringing about a sheepish grin. "I didn't think you would actually do it, so I ate it when you were around fifty," she confessed her sins.

"You. Absolute. Child whore."

"Firefly!" Ivy spat from her seat across the room, flicking him a warning look. "What?" Garfield complained. "She's, like, the oldest one of us here! She can take it!" Doll just giggled, promising to give him the next one she got, given that she could maintain good behavior for the rest of the week. With a tired sigh, the pyromaniac gave it a rest when he slumped into his special seat. It was one he had claimed as his long ago when he'd somehow managed to burn away a good portion of its exterior.

At this point into the conversation, Jervis had stopped paying attention in favor of taking up the hat and needle he had been working on. Thankfully no one had stolen the sharp tool while they were set down; if someone had used it to, say, pierce someone in the jugular, it would take him another month just to have the doctors trust him enough to gift him another. He put his chair back to an upright position, looking up at the clock to watch the second hand twitch. After getting the timing down, he began tapping the needle on the table to the beat of an invisible metronome to get himself into rhythm. After the first few taps, he shifted the repetitive movement to his foot and followed with pushing the needle through the fabric in time with the beat. Fabric was bound to fabric, forming that protrusion from the brim base. "Will you, won't you, will you, won't you," he mouthed silently, the words circling into an endless loop in perfect time.

Tetch jumped, startled by the unexpected thump of another lackadaisically jumping in front of him and propping their head up with their elbow on the table. "Someone isn't taking their medication," Nygma taunted, a wry grin formed. "Wouldn't that be an interesting tidbit of information for the doctors to catch?" Jervis was tight-lipped, brow raised in visible agitation. "Contrawise. Since when did you become a psychiatrist?" he asked, futilely taking the defensive in a battle he knew he was doomed to be defeated in. "You're stimming," Edward pointed out, referring to his repetitive tapping. "Your point?" Tetch inquired, playing dumb just to see how much Edward could prove his case. "The antipsychotics you take improve the behavioral aspects of ASD," Nygma declaimed, "ergo, you've been neglecting your medicine. Spitting it out?" "That nurse isn't too bright," Jervis scoffed, going back to sewing up the hat, "unlike Alice." Edward looked up from watching Tetch's hands to give him an odd glance. Alice was as young and beautiful as she was thick, that's what the Hatter always told him. "So, I assume you want this?" Tetch drew the needle away from the task to present it to Nygma, who nearly caught it between his fingers if it wasn't flicked out of his reach. "Honestly, you just got here a few unbirthdays ago," the schizophrenic complained, biting the needle between his teeth as he flattened a piece of fabric, much to Edwards subtle disgust. "Please. We both know I don't belong here," Nygma sneered. Jervis glanced up at him, using the needle in his mouth as an excuse to not say anything. "The faster I get out of here, the better."

"You're an absolute wazzock, Nygma," Tetch told him, removing the needle from his mouth to continue sewing the last patches of the hat. "I don't believe I'm familiar with the term. I assume English in origin;" Ed replied, "what does it mean?" Jervis smiled wryly, giving him a knowing glance as he jabbed the needle in his direction. "A deviously brilliant person," he said cheekily, bringing about a triumphant grin from his colleague. "I'll hand it over. Just after I've finished," he continued, nearly complete with snaking the thread around the brim. "At least begrudge me that. I'm almost done with it." "Well I'm sure you'd bite my hand off should I try to take it," Edward sighed, deciding to be patient and knit together his fingers, sitting up properly. "Every last finger," Jervis affirmed, garnering a disgusted response.

"So do they just give you the materials you need?" Edward asked after a minute of watching him assemble the final product. "Essentially," Tetch shrugged. "Many of the more docile inmates enjoy crafting as a therapy activity. They had some on hand, and since I've been on good behavior for a while, they've let me get back to my craft again. It keeps me busy and helps me express myself, they say." Edward pursed his lips, looking over the crude hat. "It looks rather homespun if you ask me," Nygma noted, looking at the clearly distinguishable seams and lines of thread that weaved its way up the crown of the hat. "Well they won't grant me scissors for obvious reasons, but aside from that, it's meant to," the hatter explained, bringing the needle back to the material. "Isn't everything Jonathan owns horribly ragged?"

Edward initially said nothing when Crane's name was brought up, just the mentioning of him bringing about an uncomfortable ambience to the table. "How is he, by the by?" Nygma then asked, begrudgingly bringing up the subject of their colleague. "Oh, I haven't the slight-" Jervis paused, glancing back at the guards, who made sure to pay special attention to the inmate with the small needle. Any traces of Wonderland would surely have him dragged out of the room and over to the medicine desk. "Ahem. I wouldn't know," he corrected, attempting to keep his spirits up by finishing the Scarecrow's signature hat. "He's been in the medical wing for over a month, ever since he was transferred from Gotham General. All they tell anyone is that he's recovering."

"Several broken ribs, several torso-based fractures, a pneumothorax, damage to the sternum, and an induced state of extreme temporary psychosis due to extreme amounts of his own toxin and your hypnosis; I'd say that warrants a month out," Edward rattled off, engendering a puzzled and annoyed glance from the Englishman. He quickly went on to explain himself. "I looked into Jon's records while he was in Gotham General, obviously. I just needed to see his condition. As always, I had not failed you in my discernment; I knew Pyg would help you both." Jervis let a smirk grace his face, leading to a displeased reaction from his peer. "One would glean that you actually care about the third member of our little, ahem, joyous social gathering centered around hot leaf water." Both casually looked up at a guard, who had been passing by in that moment. Inmate and guard exchanged suspicious glanced, but the latter soon moved along. "Care? The man nearly had me killed," Nygma scoffed. "Erasing your debt then? So you could make up for your mistake?" Tetch inquired, receiving a scathing glare at the notion that the fault had been one-sided. "If it provides any comfort, I wasn't exactly thinking of leverage at the time," replied Nygma, flicking the tip of the crown of the hat. "Yes I do expect him to be more than full of gratitude next I see him, but as of now that is all I await." Glancing over at the rest of the inmates within the recreational room, he grew impatient with the milliner's need to take his sweet time. "Mind informing me why you and Jonathan thought it necessary to cross an entire country?" he then asked for the sake of passing time. This being the first time since his recapture that he was let into the rec room, he was understandably itching to know. "Oh, you haven't heard?" Tetch hummed nonchalantly. "I'd like to hear it from you," Edward then said, crossing his arms as he leaned onto the table. "I hear it's quite the tale."

Jervis didn't answer initially, taking his time to look over the hat, as if there was some improvement to be done to make it look shabbier than it already was. Edward rapped his fist against the table to draw his attention, but it only granted him an irked glare from Ivy.

"We do bad things, don't we?" Jervis asked softly, going back to pushing the needle into the fabric. Edward stopped to process the question, giving a typical, "Is this a trick question?" The glance from his opposite urged him to continue. "Well, you certainly do. My activities could be called nothing short of a service to society." The brusque exchange of gazes wasn't so friendly as it had been previously. "Okay, suppose for the sake of your convoluted allusion that yes, I completely agree. What of it?"

Tetch smiled softly again, taking time to scan over at Dahl bothering an impressively restrained Dent. "Do you ever do things with the best of intentions for others… and yet when you blunder it all up, you feel worse than all the terrible things prior?"

Edward frowned, quickly picking up on the implications as he asked, "You're referring to the hypnosis incident?"

"I'm referring to the entire event," the hatter clarified. "I…" He held up a hand, trying to express something but having a hard time forming the words. "I feel as though I was so close to something, Ed." It was impulsive to quote the King of Hearts at that moment, but he refrained. Ed sat back, listening closely with mild interest. He was no therapist, but he was always willing to lend an ear, and more importantly, a very well-educated opinion. "You couldn't understand how he was. I heard him chuckle, I saw him cry, and he joked and jeered and… he just seemed so much…" He waved his hand. "Pleasanter. And, well, I foolishly thought that if I put him under, it would only be doing him some good. He looked so at peace, you understand? For the first time he seemed to enjoy things, and well, I knew it was for his benefit that I keep him under."

"Knew, or believed?" Edward questioned, garnering an incredulous look. With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward onto the table again. "And how long were you going to keep him under for?" To this, the Hatter fell silent, unable to produce a definitive answer. "I see."

Ed watched Jervis sit the hat down, seemingly contemplating his own actions the month before. He had been given ample time to dwell on the subject, and yet he could never provide clear answers to his own question. With that, Ed thought up another riddle. "I make jobs worth doing and life worth living. I can be spread and brought, individually felt or contagiously shared. There can never be too much of me, and yet when you have none of me you will be lost. Once you unlock my secret, I am easy to find, but for the people who need me the most, they'll be searching for me for a lifetime." He smiled knowingly, catching Jervis' misgiving expression. "As I'm sure you would know. What am I?"

"Happiness," the other answered simply. "Your moral, mouse?" Edward just smiled down at his friend. "Correct." Coming to a stand, he quickly snatched up a white king that had been strewn on a discarded chess board. He ran his thumb over the cross atop the piece, making eye contact with Tetch once again. "The secret to finding happiness; possibly the world's greatest riddle besides, of course, 'who is the Batman?'" He smiled pointedly at Jervis, who had set his activity down to listen. "And what is so daunting about it is that it's a completely open-ended question, which is where I believe you've failed. Your problem isn't in your execution, however, but the fact that you started the puzzle to begin with."

Jervis looked fed up with the cryptic talk, looking up at the clock to beckon Time to get off of six o' clock. Edward, however, needed to make his point. "You're a lucky man, Jervis. You found the key to your riddle: an Alice," he continued. "However, you've also been trying to solve Jonathan's this entire time." Jervis looked ready to speak his reservations, but let him continue. Edward placed the piece flat on its base, leaning back. "You think you can construct some guide to happiness as if its answer was some universal riddle, but it's absurd. You see, Jonathan isn't you. He doesn't have that one piece that's missing that can just snap into place, like you do. His happiness is his enigma, and it's not up to you to help him solve. If anything, it only strays him further from the answer."

Tetch remained in seemingly silent composure, looking over the hat in sullen pensiveness. He looked to be in at a crossroads betwixt trying to be angry and being unable to muster up actual agitation. With reserved emotions, he reached over and flicked the king over. A deep breath was taken in before he took the thread between his teeth and skillfully severed it with a flick of his head. With that he gave the needle over to Edward. "They'll notice its absence when they ask for it back."

"I just need to unlock one of the storage rooms," Riddler smiled, taking the tool. "I'll tell the guards I need to use the bathroom and I'll work from there. I already have a bobby-pin from one of the nurses after all. I'll hand it over when I get back. It should roughly only take ten minutes; ample time before we're taken back to our cells."

Jervis didn't respond, taking to twirling the hat around by its brim to properly look it over, his expression somber. There was none of that Wonderland everyone was so used to seeing, even when Jervis was off of his medication. Nygma would admit, not so readily, that he felt a small pang of pity for him. The man had nearly killed someone he had grown a bit attached to. So, Edward decided to give one more tidbit of previously withheld information.

"Crane has been accepting visitors lately," he informed casually as he observed the needle, smiling to himself when he captured Jervis' shocked shooting glance from his peripherals. "Since when?" the Hatter demanded, that familiar spark of vigor relighting within him. "From what I've heard from the guards? A few days," Nygma replied. "He's been receiving a visitor every day; most likely a detective coming to ask him questions. I can't think of any other reason why someone would want to see him." He saw that renewed joy within the easily excitable man, deciding to egg it on further. "Time is coming up short for now, but if you ask before our recreation time tomorrow, the doctors may let you visit him while he's holed up in his cell."

Jervis grinned widely, excited by the idea of seeing his friend once again. "Oh frabjous day! Call-" He winced when he heard Two-Face clear his throat. Dent shook his head slowly from the couch, jerking a thumb over to the eagle-eyed guards. He wasn't in the mood for watching someone else get dragged off. Zsasz still wasn't back from solitary confinement after being caught spouting off philosophical jargon about everyone being zombies. Tetch smiled apologetically, turning to look back at Edward, who was already coming to a stand. Before he could leave, however, he was kept by a fierce tug on his sleeve.

"Ed," Jervis began now that Nygma had his gaze trained on him. The hatter grimaced, looking rather conflicted with himself. "Tell me, does the Har- I mean… Does Jonathan ever… well… talk funny to you?" Edward quirked a brow at the vague question, beckoning him to elaborate before he could think up a snarly piece of backtalk. "What I mean is, does he ever, well, speak nonsense? Well, like referring to himself in the third person?" When he continued to receive that blank response, he made another attempt at speaking sense to him. "Quite like Two-Face! You know, whenever he refers to himself as Two-Face or maybe refers to himself as Harvey because it's one personality referring to another?" Slowly Edward experienced that brilliant feeling of having an answer to a puzzle dawn on him. "Oh, you must be referring to Scarecrow."

"No no, I'm talking about Jonath-" Jervis stopped himself, letting go of Ed's sleeve with his mouth left agape. "Wait… I beg your pardon…?" Edward grinned cockily down at Tetch's ignorance, placing a hand on the table as he lowered himself to face Tetch on his level. "As always, Tetch, I come out on top when it comes to intellect in most things, even if such a topic is knowing Jonathan personally." He smirked, presenting the needle as a sort of show of superiority. "I'll be back in time to return this to you."

Jervis watched him leave, feeling more puzzled than he had before. One could suppose that this was what happens when you speak with the Riddler.

Tetch looked at the hat in his hands, letting a smile cross onto his face as he refused to let the unknowns eat away at him. However, he felt that lingering sense of foreboding when he heard Nygma clear his throat dramatically to grab the attention of the room. Jervis didn't even look his way, knowing full well just by the sound what was about to happen.

"By the way, Lynns! That was an impressive, if not somewhat barbaric show you put on for us!"

That was the distinct noise of the Riddler about to spout something contrary to his supposed high intellect.

"Tell me, are you feeling the burn ye-"

THUMP.

That was the sound of Riddler collapsing after being nailed in the head with a shoe.

Jervis had to bite on his fingers to keep himself from tapping his feet along to the beat of a very loud clock. He struggled not to hum the Lobster Quadrille; with so many doctors passing here and there, he could only satisfy his need by repeating the melody within his mind and idly twist the brim of the hat in his hands. They say the hours tick by slower when you watch the clock, but he was no fool. Time would just slack off like a do-nothing if he wasn't being carefully monitored, and so Jervis spent his time ensuring that time truly was moving forward.

"Thirty minutes," Jervis mumbled to himself, watching the second hand skip pass the twelve for the thirtieth time without even so much as a "hello". He looked up at the young nurse at the desk, beckoning her attention with a curious gaze. "Is everything alright in there?" he sighed, placing the hat beside him with foreign impatience.

"He's currently having another visitor," the nurse responded kindly. Why, with such nice long brown hair, she could almost be Alice, he noted. Almost. He wasn't too thrilled about the mess of a mane atop her head; he found it to be in need of cutting. "Oh yes, the detective," he sighed, remembering Nygma's guess as to who the visitor was. "I wait an entire day only to be held up by an oyster." The next line was murmured under his breath. "If only the Walrus were here to feed on the cretin."

It was in that moment that said oyster decided to exit the room and reveal herself. He watched her with vague interest, up until he came to realize her age.

The girl had to be about twelve, thirteen, fourteen if he was being generous. She walked like any law-abiding citizen who had just met Jonathan Crane would: stilted, tense, with small steps and a gaze angled the floor. Long brown hair was parted only slightly so she could have some sort of sight. She was dressed rather modestly, a thin physique framed by black jeans and a thin red jacket zipped to meet her neck. She smiled to herself, tightening the strap of a small black handbag, looking around like a lost child for her mother. Her attention was brought to the hat Jervis had made for his forlorn friend. She regarded it in that moment with a clear jolt of fear. When their gazes met, he caught a glimpse of familiar gray eyes. Poor girl looked ready to shut up like a telescope right there, turning her gaze with a petrified snap that didn't belong in a wretched place like this.

The young girl quickly made her way to the desk. "Where's Mista Dawson?" she asked, voice soft, but strained and hurried with a clear tremor inside a southern drawl. The guards approached Jervis to help him into the room. "Oh, he went to the restroom for a few moments, Savannah, " the nurse responded sympathetically. A first name basis; how often did such a young girl come here? On cue, a well-dressed man entered the room, brightening up and beckoning her over. "How did it go, Sav?" Jervis strained to hear the next few words before he was led into the visitation room.

"Better. It let me speak to him finally."

Once the door was shut behind him, the guards unlocked the chains around his wrists. Looking over at the table, he brightened when he finally saw that beanpole with neat red hair sitting in the opposite chair to him. He frowned, however, when the guard moved over to the free Jonathan Crane. At the jangle of his the chains, Jonathan stolidly raised his wrists up, allowing himself to be chained with little resistance. Throwing a puzzled look to the guards, one allowed him the curtesy of an explanation. "It's for your own safety, Mr. Tetch."

Jervis looked over at the guard with the gaze of the Queen of Hearts. "And yet he's not so dangerous to a young girl?" he asked incredulously. The guard just grimaced, responding with, "Well, I don't think-" "Then you shouldn't talk," Hatter snapped, taking his glare off to look over at the trapped March Hare.

Jonathan stared back silently, lips peeling into a thin grin before they had even looked at one another. Jervis saw that clear trace of malice and maliciousness peering over thin reading glasses. He would be lying if he said it wasn't unnerving, but he knew Jonathan was only attempting to stoke some fear into him.

The guards soon left the room to give the two privacy to talk freely, but no doubt they would be standing by, ready for any sort of attack of one on the other. With their leaving, Jervis was ready to sit across from Jonathan and let out a babble of nonsense about how Harley fretted or how everyone was beginning to get sick of his droll behavior, but his attention was caught by two objects on another table nearby. To these, he looked to Jonathan for silent approval. Jonathan's expression remained still, thinned eyes tracking his every move. Well, it wasn't a no.

Walking over to the table, he quickly recognized that near journal Jonathan had kept so close to himself. Browned blood clearly soaked through the pages, but hopefully not enough to ruin its contents. "Oh, they gave you your journal back! In spite of the, er, extra ink." He wasn't going to read it, of course, instead beginning to skim through its pages to see the extent of the damage. He would hate for Jonathan to lose so much of his work. His curious hand slowed when he approached his spot; he recalled it just between Deadshot and Mr. Freeze. Perhaps he could catch a gaze of a few simple words before he moved on.

Jervis halted when he moved just past Mr. Freeze, confused when the next page was of the world's deadliest assassin. A few seconds of processing lead him to notice the torn bits of paper lodged between both sections. His pages had been completely torn out. The book fell from his hands and thumped against the table. A reluctant glance at the second object revealed it to be a letter— the letter that had started everything. He only recognized it from that familiar stamp placed on the bottom, the only indicator it was still the same letter. That being said, it was to be noted that every bit of white space had been filled in with giant, messy writing, opposed to the usual tight penmanship.

"Hatter."

Jervis looked over with plate-sized eyes, stopping himself from touching the letter. Jonathan's expression had relaxed into that stoic façade he was always good at keeping in the forefront. His fingers flexed uncomfortably, watching Jervis with heavy eyes and a fatigued way about him. Tetch smiled widely in return, taking note of how Crane pulled away with his gaze to stare down at his hands. "Why are you here?" he whispered under his breath, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of a chained wrist. "To visit, of course," the Hatter grinned, seating himself across from Jonathan, fiddling with the hat in his hands.

Crane took notice of the hat, keeping his gaze on it before raising a blank stare back to Jervis. Tetch eagerly placed it on the table. "You lost your last accessory, and I know how mimsy you get with having to replace so many of your things, so I made you a new one!" He retained the smile, despite Crane's silent, fixed look towards him. That silence felt foreign to him; he wished that loud ticking of the clock could still be heard through the door so he wouldn't feel as uncomfortable. "Of course, I simply had to, given my namesake." Again, no response. He had the urge to quote about how he didn't actually own any hats since he sold them all, but even without the presence of the guards to stop him, he felt as though the sobersided, voiceless Jonathan he was receiving would have been enough to stop him halfway from the sheer discomfiture of their situation.

He allowed a full minute to pass by, hoping that maybe Jonathan was just taking an awfully long time to think up a good response, but nothing came of it. Jonathan just wasn't having any part of this one-sided conversation; with slumped shoulders and an uneasy impassiveness detailing him, Jervis just felt as though he was talking to a face pasted onto a concrete wall. "You know, Jonathan, Nygma and I were quite spooked by your condition," he mentioned casually, realizing he would have to lead the conversation. Another thirty of seconds of nothing passed by before he continued. "After all, he nearly risked being lobotomized by Pyg just so you could live. He's been awaiting eternity and then some just for a 'thank you' from you." He let himself titter, hoping a poor attempt at dark humor would bring our some sort of reaction. He gulped, bringing up more recent events to speak of. Before long, he began rattling off the things happening in Arkham, including Edward's most recent recapture and Zsasz's escapades and even the bet between Dahl and Lynns that had happened just the day before. All of this spilled out in hopes that he could pry a reaction from the still man. At this point he was tempted to ask the guards if Crane was just lobotomized, as he wasn't getting anything out of him. The mere thought frightened him, but then again, this phlegmatic beanpole with glasses was beginning to frighten him as well with a lack of words. He knew he could talk, given the first and only question that had left him being a sensible one, but why he had suddenly disconnected was another worry altogether.

"I swear, Firefly is only going to get himself stuck here until he fizzles out," came the last dry chuckle from Jervis, who was simply talking for the sake of hearing someone speak. Out of habit, he began tapping his fingers again, but that uncomfortable gaze only seemed to intensify. At the piercing pressure of the gaze, he forced his hand away.

"Speak to me," he said suddenly, for the first time garnering a small response in the form of a canting of Crane's head. "What do you want me to say?" he asked finally, any of that strong, icy grip he had once maintained in his speech now faded into reserved and dull nonchalantness. "Anything, really," Tetch entreated his doctor. "Scold me. Tell me I care too much about a blasted hat. Admonish me for not coming in with a prepared speech. Tell me my fears are unwarranted, or how you still want Riddler's head on a pike, or how awful the hospital food is; explain in step by step detail how my brain is processing my fear, or remind me that I'm just a big idiot that gets on your nerves all the time, or talk about how irritating I am with how much you hate my made-up words or how foolish I am or how much you want to murder me right now. Say something."

Crane had his finger knitted together, watching silently as Jervis finished his rant and slumped back into his chair. With that, he simply gave the infuriating answer of "There's nothing to say." Jervis wasn't angry, just frustrated. He placed his chin on his palm, propped up by his elbow as he considered Jonathan sternly.

"Is this about the hypnotism?" Jervis then asked, cutting straight to what was undoubtedly a touchy point for the both of them. Just the way Crane's eyes narrowed a touch meant he had struck a vein. Jervis felt no victory in it, unfortunately, taking the silence that hung in the air as confirmation. With a deep, tremor-filled exhale, bringing his hands together as he shifted his eyes away. "What happened to you was not my fault," he said softly, those very words bringing about a bigger reaction than any of his previous rambling combined.

"Like hell," Crane spat, a sneer crossing his lips before quickly settling back to indifference. "It was an accident, Jonathan," Tetch shot back, letting his distress be known at the other's lack of consideration for his point of view. "We were in a car accident. You were impaled by your own bloody scythe; you absorbed a near pint of your own toxin! You were delusional and I saved your life!"

"It would have never happened in the first place had you taken me off the hypnotism," Jonathan growled, his voice far more restrained than that of a panicked Jervis. "Is that what you're so upset about?" Tetch inquired, exasperated. This only brought about further hostile feelings to be inflicted unto him. "You just don't understand," Crane replied, knuckles white from clenched fists. "I put my life in your hands, Jervis. I let you control my every move. I gave up my free will and free thought because I trusted you." Every emphasized word dripped with a malice Jervis only received from his greatest adversaries. "I had you swear to me that I would be rid your control as soon as we got away from the Batman and you lied to me."

"We're criminals, Jonathan," Jervis defended. "You're worried about a lie? We had barely any time! I was going to let you go soon enough."

"Liar," Jonathan shot back without hesitation, catching Jervis off his guard. This time it was the smaller man who was unwilling to respond, allowing Jonathan to lean forward and look him straight in the eye. "How long were you going to keep me under, Tetch? The day? The week? You would rather have me as one of your rabbits than take off your control." Again, Jervis refused to grace him with the response he rightfully deserved. "I suppose this could be considered a form of getting even, seeing as my deception was what brought you along in the first place," Jonathan finished, anger subsiding as he folded his hands on the table.

"You didn't see what I had," Jervis finally spoke. "You were happy! You seemed so content, and I only wanted you to experience that for a time. I did it for you!"

"Did you?" Jonathan questioned, a hand curling up until his knuckles paled once more. He took in a deep breath, grimacing at his own memories. "You weren't able to get me out of your own trance." He closed his eyes, jaw worked tight. "It took… three weeks. Three weeks of constant, unyielding…" He grunted, unable to get himself to say the word, "… as I was unable to form my own thoughts. I couldn't speak of my own accord, I was plagued by intrusive thoughts. They had to manually put me to sleep because I wasn't able to get any rest of my own. Even when the doctors finally broke the trance and rid me of all my own formula, I couldn't sleep. I was writing on the walls by my bed, I couldn't bear to eat, I found myself doing everything to that awful, obnoxious ticking. Even in the darkest of times, even when they kept me company and spoke to me, trying to rid me of these tormenting thoughts, I found myself only thinking of you, because of that awful trance you put me under." His body was rigid as he futilely attempted to dissipate the thoughts that plagued in his mind. "It-it was…" He let out a sound that could almost be considered a whimper. "… absolute hell." His frame jerked as he streakily regained his composure. "So I hope you can forgive me if I would rather not see you right now. I'm trying, I really am, but right now, I just can't."

Jervis felt any frustration melt away as guilt plagued him; a foreign feeling for really any of the inhabitants of the asylum. He reached forward, a caring hand ready to touch his friend's arm.

"Don't!" Jonathan reeled back, the cry coming as an absolute shock to his peer, who drew his hand back in silent awe. That stolid mask broke for just a brief moment to display a visage of exhaustion and fatigue. He let out a small groan, placing a hand to his head and looking away, muttering under his breath, "Don't, not now." He grimaced at a head pain, letting out a shuddering breath. "You can't-" A sharp inhale left his lips, his pain evident. Jervis sat back, placing his hands in his lap so as to not provoke any more hurt within him. "If you touch me, I can't help what they are going to do," Jonathan murmured with a shudder, going back to that stiff disposition he was always displaying. "Oh it's just a touch," Jervis assured him without worry. "I doubt the guards will react so heavily if I were to just touch you."

"I wasn't talking about the guards," Crane spoke lowly, forcing Tetch to frown and consider an alternative. A smile was brought to his face as he slowly shook his head. "You're trying to frighten the poor Hatter," he spoke softly. His tone was not one meant to antagonize, but to show understanding. "I'm not scared of you anymore. Even if you don't have faith in me anymore, I still trust you with my life, because I believe you would do the same for me as I would have done for you, even anything that you knew was for my own benefit."

Jonathan was back to his mum, still state so indicative of the pathology that had landed him in this asylum. "We're done here," he said without warning, preparing to come to a stand. Jervis felt alarm as the brusque ending to their conversation, every fiber telling him that there was more to discuss. "Are you angry?" he asked softly, watching Jonathan shake his head. "I just need you to get away from me," Crane murmured. "You're a toxin Jervis." Tetch felt a sting within him. Distress forced the leaking of a few of those voices within his head. "Maybe it's always pepper that makes people hot-tempered." The glare shot his way caused the schizophrenic to shrink back as a reaction, laughing shakily to himself. "You'll seep in and you'll only end up doing harm to everyone you infect."

"The time has come, to talk of many things: of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings."

"You're absolutely mad."

"But I don't want to go among mad people!"

"Do you even realize how much you hurt people? Or are you too afraid of that reality to ever take it into consideration?"

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great-"

"Stop!" Jervis let out a unrefined cry when Jonathan slammed his fists onto the table. "God damn it, Jervis, just please stop! Stop calling me Hare, stop with the quotes, stop acting as though you actually care about me and just please, leave." A burst of anger erupted from Tetch as he hopped to a stand, his chair screeching when shoved back and toppling over. "I won't," he fought back, "because I want you to understand that I do care about you. Your despondency caused you to only harm yourself." Jonathan scoffed, turning his head in visible agitation. "As if you have any lucidity to actually care," he snapped. "You're mad, Tetch. Absolutely raving, unapologetically, horrifically mad. From Alice to your family to your 'friends', you hurt everyone you supposedly care about because your concern is simply your own selfishness trying to fit each pawn around you into your little delusions. You crave this control, and I refuse to be the Hare to your little tea party. I'm not a character, Jervis, but I don't think you'll ever be truly sensible to understand that!" Jervis felt his anger flare, struggling to keep his reflexive need to retaliate at bay. He pieced together a proper response in a matter of seconds. "Now now, you're going to listen to me, Alice, because if anyone has a twisted world view, it is you!" Jervis bit back. "I wholeheartedly believe in what I wad doing, and for that I will not apologize, but… but I-I re… refuse… to…"

Jervis' words slowed to a halt upon realizing Jonathan's expression of disbelief and bewilderment. He had never seen him with such an expressive look, many of his most passionate looks of hatred and glee just being mere flickers compared to this one, which could only be described as one having just received the blow of the century. "I… refuse…" Jervis tried to speak up again, but the look alone forced him into a state of discomfiture.

After what had to be a half minute of them staring at each other, a shellshocked Jonathan finally broke the unbearable silence. "What did you just call me?" Jervis frowned in puzzlement, realizing then what he had just done. He searched his memory, trying to pinpoint when he had dropped that name, searching for some sort of other explanation. "I-I, well, I-!" An unsound giggle burst from him, trying to ease the unbearable silence as Jonathan's stare became nearly enough to break him more than any formula he had ever created. "I called you March Hare! Hare of course; that's what you've always been! Nothing else, my- err, my- aha, d-dear- haha, Hare!"

Jonathan's fixed look dared not leave, instead softening to one that he had never been seen baring before: guilt. Clear, apologetic, unwavering guilt. "Oh Jervis," he murmured, pushing himself away from the table to stand. "I should have never brung you along." Jervis look of distress only intensified as he let out a weak "Jonathan," but the doctor only seemed to scold himself. "You always were prone to getting overly-attached." "Jonathan." "It's my fault you ever even came. I should have seen it, given you attachment to your Alices and your obsessive behavior over them, but I just never thought…" "Jonathan!"

"You need to get out," Crane demanded, seizing up in visible anger as any signs of regret faded. Jervis opened his mouth to let out a spiel of how it was an honest mistake, followed by how this whole situation was fiddling with his mind and not making him as right in the head as he always had been. However, what exited his big mouth turned out to be far different. "Jonathan, you can't change what happened between us in that road trip."

"Nothing happened during that road trip," Crane snapped angrily, his hands turning to grip the chains with bruising fury. "It was all in your head, Tetch. That's what happens with you; you find someone that fits that fantasy in your head and you cling to it. That's why you were always so foolish to trust me without a second thought!"

"That is not true!" Tetch near screeched. "I saw you cry, I saw you open up, I saw something human under all that burlap and straw you use to hide everything you could never trust anyone enough to see. You trusted me, Jonathan, and that is a far greatest compliment I could ever get from such a shut-in like you. I see that humanness and I feel as though you were actually close to being happy. You can't tell me that was nothing!" He reached a hand forward, but the other physically drew back with a revolted glare.

"It doesn't matter what it was!" Jonathan shouted, his voice raising in volume to match Jervis'. "You need to get away from me. Now. Before I harm you."

"See? You don't want to hurt me!" Jervis said with a certifiable grin. "You care about me! On some level, you had and still do have trust in me! You still want to talk to me and see me and tell me whatever you're holding back. At least admit that!"

"Hatter," Jonathan spoke with strained words, his voice lowering as he looked conflicted within himself. "I'm- I'm not… you don't-" He clenched his jaw tightly as Jervis took the moment to speak more words of encouragement, stepping around the table to move closer to him. Jonathan mirrored the bold action by moving back, closer to the wall. "You can't tell me it was all for nothing!" the Hatter pleaded. "I implore you, tell me you at least feel the way I do, in that there is something between us. Whether it be a passionate anger, or friendship, or trust, or simply history, I want you to acknowledge that you feel something between you and I that separates our partnership from every other person in your life right now."

"I… I don't…" His back now against a wall, Jonathan had no choice but to throw out out a response to appease the man that importuned him for some admission of hidden emotions. "I… I might have…" he whispered, the exasperation in his voice giving away the undoubtable ring of truth. As soon as the words were spoken, he turned his head away, as if shamefaced by his own words.

Jervis fell silent, experiencing a well of hope within him. A smile cracked his expression as he reached forward. "Jonathan, I believe-!"

Jervis wrapped a hand around Crane's thin wrist, a move that was meant to be representative of his affable outreach towards his friend. He only had a split second to react when he saw the inflamed and outright baleful and malicious glower flash across Jonathan's countenance. Before he knew it, Jervis had two hands wrapped around his own neck, pinning his back down onto the table with a dangerously tightening grip. Jonathan's exhausted demeanor before was replaced by a reticent nature, but this one seemed far more hostile, dare he say even malevolent. Tetch struggled for breath as he desperately fought against him, kicking and hitting as he quickly came to realize he was fixing to die.

Before that encroaching darkness could even show its face, Jonathan was yanked away by the guards that had decided to come in and intervene. The men quickly neutralized him, dragging him out of the room as a nurse quickly came to treat the gasping inmate. Crane could be heard spouting threats and a wish for harm upon the other as he was inevitably brought back to his room.

Tetch felt around his neck, wincing in pain at the sheer force that had been applied, thankful the event hadn't crushed anything. He let out a disgruntled groan, smacking away the nurses hand. "Get away; I'm fine!" Filled with a silent loathing at what had just happen, the only emotion counteracting it being that dejected pit inside of him. He brung himself up to a stand, wobbling and taking in harried breaths. He stared at the door in which his friend had been rudely dragged out of, a mix of raw emotions stewing like an odious solution. He tore his eyes away solemnly, fighting back his emotions. "You're wrong," he scowled under strained breathing.

The nurse rattled off the typical medical nonsense, which he obviously ignored in favor of training on the letter that had been placed on the table beside theirs. A quick strife over and he had the flimsy paper within his hands, gazing over the wild chicken-scratch that had been written all over the page. Unfinished thoughts, angered nonsense, wishing of harm and words that almost seemed like he was holding a full conversation to himself. Chemical formulas, hatred, Wonderland quotes, words that Jervis had heard him say over the course of their venture; it was all just claptrap to show the discordant and dissonant mess of Crane's mind. He had to have written it all when under his three weeks of torment; the same balderdash must have been written along his walls, as he had claimed. Jervis was almost in disbelief that this was the same writing from that refined doctor with such neat penmanship. The only factor that guaranteed the authorship was the good doctor was a single quote by Tetch himself, the largest one scrawled across the empty space over the letter.

Reading the quote over brought about a sting in his chest. He could distinctly hear the words in his own head. The ticking of his pocket watch had sounded so clearly and his rabbit was just about to fall into that dream-like state with a blissed smile. The Hatter had leaned forward and whispered those words in his ear with a smile that knew so confidently that everything would be just fine.

"You know, Jonathan, I don't think you're as scary as everyone says you are."

"How was your time back on the saddle, Master Bruce?" Alfred spoke, watching Batman exit the Batmobile. "Couldn't have been better," Bruce sighed, taking off his belt, refraining from tossing it carelessly from his need to sleep and simply placing it beside the Batcomputer. "Furthered into the investigation on Valentin when one of his dolls tried to remove my head from my shoulders. He's gone into hiding again, but with any luck from that sample I sent Barbara, I'll be able to pin his location tomorrow." Removing his cowl, he let out a tired sigh and began looking over the evidence gathered in the database.

Alfred placed a glass of cold water beside Bruce, causing the younger man to let out a thankful sigh of relief. "What would I do without you, Alfred?" he smiled, taking the glass and chugging it entirely. "Without me? 'Gotham's Most Eligible Bachelor' you would be not. You would be far more well-known for coming to charity balls dressed as a homeless man and smelling of late-night ramen than you would ever be parading as Gotham's bat-like defender." The comment awarded him a funny look. "A little harsh, don't you think?" Bruce chuckled, not taking the comment to heart as he placed the glass back down. "Master Bruce, if I have to spend my entire nights waiting for a man dressed like a bat to come home and collapse on the bed, you will grant me at least the occasional comment," Alfred said simply.

"How else is he going to lighten you up?" Oracle spoke, wheeling herself into the cave using the ramp that lead to the platform by the stairs (he's an equal opportunity employer, after all). "How's Tim?" he asked, going to place his cowl back in its storage. "Fine. He got back about an hour ago and is currently passed out on your couch," Barbara smiled, coming to a halt and placing her hands on her lap. "Word from Arkham says that the Riddler recently tried to make another escape."

"After five days? Took him long enough," Bruce muttered, removing the cape and moving it to the side. "They also say Crane's lucid again," she added, noticing the grim change in demeanor she had very well expected. "Ah. And?" he asked, feigning vague disinterest. "It's said he's teetering on the edge of insanity, but at least stable," Oracle answered. Batman shook his head, solemn once again as he moved over to a cork board, decorated with all the photos of current villains that were currently a threat, small notes beside them detailing important reminders of their current status or whatever they currently that was a cause for concern. "Dad's deciding again whether or not you're a saint or just stupid," Barbara smiled, eliciting no response from her mentor. "Oh ho, you have to be a little bit of both to do what Master Bruce does," Alfred responded for him. Both watched him look over the mugshots of Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane placed on opposite corners of the board. "Anything else?" he asked her. "Only that he nearly murdered Tetch," Gordon said. Bruce nodded, removing a sticky note and writing something brief on a fresh one from the nearby stack. "The entire police force is talking about how you should have let him die," Barbara mentioned, watching him place the note just under Tetch's photo. Tetch tried to visit, it read. "You know that's not how I do things," he spoke, pointing a frown at her. "Yeah, of course, but you can't blame them," she said softly. "To them, you saved a monster."

Bruce needed no thought to his response. "They're not monsters, Barbara," Bruce reminded her, referring to the entire group instead of the man in question. "They bleed, laugh, cry, hate, and fear just like the rest of us." He grabbed a nearby spool of red yarn and a pair of scissors. "I don't see their fear and emotions as weaknesses, but hope and reassurance of that fact every day. Despite what everyone thinks they may be, or how hopeless the doctors define them, or what they've done, Tetch went to save Crane." He cut the yarn, spearing either end with separate thumbtacks. "I don't think Crane went under unwillingly." He considered the board for a moment. The green thread that connected Tetch and Crane was soon removed, a color that was also found between both criminals and Nygma, Cobblepot and Two-Face, Catwoman and Ivy, Firefly with Joker, and many others. He was almost about to pin the red yarn between both criminals, making a connection similar to the yarn that connected Harley and Ivy, or the ones that used to connect Harley and Joker or Killer Croc and Baby Doll. "They're human. They can be defeated, they can be beaten…" He reconsidered, placing the yarn in a drawer for now. Instead, he grabbed Crane's photo and moved it over to be pinned beside Tetch's. He picked up a new note, writing a large question mark and placing it between both mugshots, loosely connecting them. "… And they can be saved."

"And that, Master Bruce, is what makes the Batman," Alfred told him, watching him move Crane's green connections to reconnect with his shifted photo. "Now, shall we put this Dark Knight business to rest for now."

Bruce let a smile crack that grim wall. "That sounds great, Alfred," he nodded, helping Barbara off the platform. "We could all use a meal and some sleep."

As the three continued to chat, they made their way out of the Batcave. Ten minutes after they had left, the cave recognized there was no longer anyone within, and so the lights automatically shut off, putting Batman to rest for the night.