Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne had gone to a therapist just like everybody asked him to. Well, not everybody- only one person on account or the rest. A whole lot of his wayne enterprises underlings who were too afraid to say it to his face had Lucius pass on the request for him to have a work- ordered therapy evaluation. His sleeping in buissness meetings had apparently worried people about his mental health. Oh and also his many year long unexplained dissaperance after the death of his parents' murderer and whatnot.

 And so in order to keep up his facade(and due to Alfreds nagging after he heard about the idea "it will be good for you master Bruce") he had gone, he didnt want anyone putting their noses where they didnt belong, and a 'mentally unwell' Bruce Wayne could cause higher ups looking more into what he was doing. He himself however, really didnt want to go. His privacy was already quite violated by being a celebrity. He told himself that it would only be a one time thing, just to get a slip about him being perfectly fine from the therapist so people would leave him alone. Bruce was already quite skilled in hiding stuff since well, he was the batman, so this would be a peace of cake. Or so he was convinced.

The therapist he chose to go to was one of Gotham's best - Dr. Jonathan Crane. He worked in a good clinic, that most rich people went to, as well as Arkham Asylum. Bruce found this interesting. Two very different places with very different people. He had to be experienced and put together - Bruce decided from reading his files. There was no way he wouldn't do proper research about who he'd be speaking to. Alfred had commented that he should mention that habit of his in therapy.

So here Bruce was in the clinics waiting room, about 8 minutes early and for some reason really anxious. Being this early for appointments didn't fit the bilionaire playboy Bruce Wayne persona, but he felt as though being late would cause a bad impression and he just wanted this to be over with, with as least problems as possible. He stared at a poster on the wall opposite of him, that said to take really deep breaths when panicking. Bruce tried. He inhaled as much air as he could but it wasn't helping him at all. His palms were sweating extensively as he obsessively checked his phone for any important messages. What if some catastrophy befell Gotham when he was there? Oh he should definetly cancel his appointment. Say something came up, maybe a meeting. He wiped his palms on his white trousers and looked at the clock. 4 more minutes till the appointment. 

Why was he so worried? - he wondered. It wasnt as if he was that shy or anything. He started thinking over the worst-case scenarios. Was there any chance he might accidentally say something that could sell him out... He had to stay on high alert and watch out over every word. Or perhaps what if id't turn out that he was crazy, just like people said. He dressed up like a bat and fought crime for pete's sake. Maybe without even knowing about his late night antics, the doctor would deem him insane and he'd be sent to Arkham with all the maniacs he put there.. No! He shook his head at the worrysome thoughts plaguing his mind. Where were they coming from? He didn't usually think about stuff like that.

 Deep breaths Bruce, deep breaths.

Just when he started mildly doubting his sanity, the door to the office opened and a really upset looking man left. He looked at Bruce whilst passing, the expression on his face was warning him of the terrors he would experience in the doctors office, like he was wordlessly saying 'now is your last chance to leave'. Bruce however, did not take the warning, and he felt he'd regret that. When he stood up, uneasiness rushed through his veins, which he instantly felt embarassed for. He was a grown man who had experienced way worse in life than going to a god forsaken therapy session! His body however, didnt share the thought and with every step he took towards the door it was like he was ignoring every single instinct he had, his head spinning with worry and stomache tightning from anxiety. Once he walked up to the doctors door, he knocked.

"Come in" a mans voice resonated from the inside. Bruce opened the door and looked inside. "Mr Wayne, i presume?" The doctor recieved a shy nod as an answer. "Please, enter, sit down." He spoke in a sweet voice. He looked just like on the file photo with well groomed hair and luminous cold blue eyes, visible behind rectangular glasses. Bruce did as instructed. He honestly felt like he would do anything this beautiful man asked him to at the moment. Dr Crane stared at him for a moment before continuing.

" Are you feeling alright, mr Wayne?"

"Huh?" What a straightfoward question - he thought, could he say yes and end the session now?

"You're looking awfully pale, here" Oh of course that was what the doctor meant. Dr Crane stood up and crossed the room. "Have some water." He passed Bruce a tall glass of water that was already full. Bruce grabbed it with a shaking, sweaty hand. He took a big gulp of the water that he didnt realise he needed, but the way it slid down his dry throat brought him so much relief. Dr Crane glanced at the clock after sitting on an armchair next to Bruce instead of infront of him, at his desk. Maybe to seem friendlier.

"Sorry i'm just a bit nervous." Bruce mustered out, his throat not painfully dry from stress anymore.

"It's okay. It is quite common to be afraid of new experiences. Now mr Wayne, what do you wish to talk about?" He asked with a polite smile.

Despite feeling a bit better now, Bruce didnt know what to talk about. He thought the doctor would take the lead. At the sight of his sheer dumbfoudedness, Dr Crane continued.

"Let me ask this differently, what brings you here?" Bruce took a deep sigh.

"My uh, coworkers seem to be worried about me and they think i should get assesed"

"And you, what do you think?"

"I think they should mind their own buissness." He said more hostilely than he wanted to. Instant regret waved upon him after saying those words and he tried to backtrack himself. "No, I mean. It's very kind of them to care, but seriously it is quite frankly none of their concern. It's not like I act like a lunatic.."

"Oh?" This seemed to have piqued Cranes interest. "You see mr Wayne, I also work in Arkham Asylam as a psychiatrist and well, many as you call them 'lunatics' are quite good at acting sane, they think they can hide who they are by an act, or a mask they put on. I can obviously tell- I have my methods-" the vague mention about methods for some reason made Bruces hair stand on end. He would have to look into the doctor's work at Arkham, because whatever he meant didn't sound good."-but, if I -obviously theoretically- let them out of Arkham- the sane acting ones. It would all be fine wouldnt it? Since they can be normal in the asylum, they would keep up the act in freedom and continue living as normal civilians. Right?"

"That sounds like a terrible idea." Bruce muttered after noticing the doctor was awaiting his input. "But there definetly have been people who were wrongly let out."

"Ha, not on my watch. Anyway I believe they would keep up the act for a little while, to not get sent back, but at some point they would go and kill somebody." He stared at Bruce almost accusingly.

Bruce stayed silent, not wanting to fall bait to whatever the doctor was trying to say.

"Hm?" Crane smiled, still waiting for his reaction. "Well in conclusion what im trying to say is that people act the way they do because of what they are expected to behave like by other people. Madmen will act sane to apeal to their doctors, and when there are no longer any doctors they are truly free to do what they want, without being judged, well even if they get landed back into the asylum soon after. Thats what true freedom is. Nobody to judge you. You act like the perfect role model and buisnessman for the masses. You- you have quite some expectations to fufill with your family name and your parents leaving behind such a legacy. You aren't free at all. Am I.. correct?" He put an annoying amount of emphasis on the last word as if he wanted to hear 'yes dr Crane oh you're so smart you see right through me!'

"No- Well, yes. I do have many eyes on me and so many expectations. But my legacy is not something I could just give up on it and leave. I've done that once before. My parents entrusted me with the wellbeing of Gotham and I must take care of it and it doesnt matter what i feel, or what 'act' i must put on as long as Gotham is safe." The doctor nodded along to what Bruce was saying, occasionally noting sonething down. Then, he glanced at the clock and upon registering the time, his cold eyes locked on Bruce like a predator observing their preys every move. Bruce continued speaking about his need to help gotham, when the dr interupted and instructed him to lie down on the couch.

"Tell me now Mr Wayne, what do you fear?" Crane asked after he settled down.

"Excuse me?" What did he mean? Why was he asking that?

"Close your eyes." Bruce did, on high alert. "And give in to fear. Let it overcome you and give up control." He was starting to feel a little dizzy, disconnected from his body and fully connected with the terror reigning in the inside of his mind. Like the only thing that existed now was fear and dr Cranes sweet voice, telling him exactly what to do. Telling him to describe just what he was imagining and seeing.

And what he could see were bats, so many bats - flying straight at him, hitting his face with their cold fast wings, the feeling of being paralyzed with fear, sitting at the bottom of the well he fell into. He couldnt tell if they were real or not but the feelling sparked another memory, and at that instant he knew he was falling down the rabbit hole of a sequence of bad memories that there was no return from. Once one was triggered- so were the rest. The next memory being the opera, the dancers, dressed in black with hideous bat ears on, doing tricks and climbing to mimic bats. He could basically feel the words he wishes he never said on his mouth, like he had only just said them seconds and not years ago 'can we go? Please?' Oh what he would give to not have said that. To have suffered just a bit more and get to the end of the preformance. And then he found himself in the alley. Paralyzed with fear once again and helpless against the man pointing a gun at them. Helplesly standing alone above scattered pearls and two corpses of the people he loved the most. Helpless. Helpless. Hel-

"Helplesness. Is that what you're afraid of the most?"

Dr Crane's voice cut through and he realised he must have been muttering and blabbering all this time.

 "Or uh, the bats?" Crane chuckled "Oh dear you must hate the batman."

Despite the doctors jokes, Bruce was still in awful terror, reliving long gone trauma, bats still swarming his head and batting their wings against him. He mumbled out some pathetic "no no no"s as he tried to swat away the nonexistent bats untill someone grabbed his hands and forced then down to his lap. at some point during the attack of terror, he had sat up to not be as vulnerable. He was hyperventilating, not crying but unable to catch a proper breath.

"It's alright, Bruce. You're safe." He felt a warm hand on his cheek, then it moved to his shoulder. "You will get through this Bruce, it'll soon wear off." It then moved down to his own hands. The doctor held his hands on top of Bruce's, like he was shielding him. "Deep breaths, inhale with me... Now exhale."

 Bruce was continuesly assaulted by the bats and kept squirming away from them. He couldn't hide his face like he wanted to, since his hands were being held down by the doctor's. But it felt nice- it felt grounding, but there was something besides that, something to the doctor's touch. He breathed like instructed but it wasn't quite enough.

"Please.. please" he whispered in a broken voice, already a bit embarassed of what he wanted to ask. 

"What is it?" 

"Please touch me."

The doctor didnt respond, he did however get up and sit next to bruce, on the same sofa. Then he put a hand to Bruce's chest and examined his pounding heartbeat. After a moment, he retrieved his hand and wrapped his arms around Bruce's massive torso, with one hand on the back of his head, messing with his hair a little.

"Shh now, now." Crane comforted. Despite all the trauma he was reliving and all the fear he felt, this was actually quite pleasent. The way the man's slender fingers played with his hair made him shiver. "It'll pass." The doctor reassured.

And just like he said, it did pass. Slowly but surely Bruce stopped feeling and seeing all that he did earlier, however he was still being held tight and comforted by the doctor. He honestly didn't want to be let go. His breathing steadied.

" How do you feel now?" Dr Crane had noticed he calmed down and stopped hugging him. When he took himself off Bruce, so did he seem to take off all of the warmth. He was so cold now, he wished the doctor would hug him again.

"Better"

"Excellent" his icy blue eyes didnt come down from Bruces face for even a moment.

"Doctor.." he had to ask. "What was all that?" It was all so peculiar, he noticed, now that he could actually form cohearent thoughts.

"You had a panic attack triggered by the thought of your fears it seems. You see Bruce, fear is nothing inherently bad, you just can't let it consume you." Dr Crane smiled at his own words, he must've have found something funny within then, something only he noticed or knew.

He got up from next to Bruce, making him feel even colder, and walked to his desk. 

" You seem to be agitated, it could be because of work. I recommend you take a break, maybe go on a short vacation, romance a few women." The doctor chuckled. "You know, relax. You'll feel way better and people will stop worrying if you take care of yourself."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Oh and Bruce?"

"Hm?"

"Come back again if the uhh bats keep tormenting you, or if you just want to." He might've winked. Bruce wasn't sure if he had imagined that or if it actually happened. He didn't really trust his eyes at the moment.

"One more thing." Crane added after Bruce stood up and was ready to leave. "Here. Take these." He put a two small objects into Bruce's palm. A orange lollipop and a brave patient sticker with an image of a smiling jack o' lantern on it. Bruce laughed. "Also you might want to hold your breath on your way out through the waiting room. Theres a uh.. renovation going on

. God knows whats in the air." He cast another wicked smile, aware of how bad of a lie that was.

"Huh, alright. Goodbye Doctor Crane."

"See you soon mr Wayne."

Chapter Text

Bruce had taken the doctor’s advice and took time off work- as Bruce Wayne, of course, and not as the batman. He was honestly quite grateful for the advice. He could focus more on his nightly duties, secretly continuing on pursuing them during the day, not in action, but he could collect and work out information in the batcave, as well as train to be stronger. Alfred cursed the doctor for this- although Bruce was taking more care of himself, just not in the way Alfred wanted.  The plan was that Bruce would do his nightly stuff at night, and during the day, he’d actually sleep. Shocker. He was frankly turning into an actual bat, but at least he was going to get some sleep. Well the ‘sleep’ was more like naps. Although that wasn't working too well.

 He thought he had it all figured out- the sleeping and selfcare, but there just HAD to be an obstacle. The obstacle being- well this was really embarrassing to admit even in thought- doctor Crane. Yes, the very same doctor who had suggested it to him to take a break and relax, was the one stopping him from fully relaxing. He wouldn't admit what was the cause of his sleeplessness, but the dark circles under his eyes and agitation was evident. Alfred was fed up. Bruce had no problem sleeping during the day when in business meetings, but now he couldn’t?! In the comfort of his manor?! There was without a doubt something wrong.

What Alfred didn’t know was that Bruce was sort of doing it to himself.

 Whenever he’d lay in bed, he would imagine the warmth of his bedsheets were dr. Crane.

 And when he’d sleep, he’d dream of dr. Crane’s raw blue eyes piercing him from behind his spectacles.

 And when he’d wake up, he’d find himself clinging to a pillow in a strong embrace, pretending it were the body of Dr. Crane-

You get the gist of it.

The less he slept, the less he found himself fantasising about the man who he only met once- and to that- his therapist, for pity’s sake!

He couldn’t however delay taking showers- especially after he returned from his batman duties. That would be a bit too unhygienic. You can just figure what he envisioned when the water hit and trickled down his naked body, caressing all of him…

 pale long fingers tracing down his shoulders, down his bare chest, down his stomach, down, down, down…

Despite the fantasies being a tad worse in the shower, he couldn’t skip them, unlike his miserable naps. He could bear missing a few nights- well days sleep, but not a few showers. He just had to fight those intrusive thoughts no matter how hard that was. Sometimes he imagined fighting Superman would be easier than fighting the thoughts.

These fantasies revolted him. Why was he daydreaming all that? It's not like the other man felt the same about him, surely. They only met once and the doctor had surely already forgotten about him. So why, why, why did he want the daydreams to come true deep down? He felt so wrong and so perverted about it. He didn’t allow himself to fantasise.

Alfred could tell something was tormenting Bruce- well, other than usual. Bruce wouldn’t tell him what was going on, always just answering something along the lines of I’m fine, Alfred. He wouldn’t explain what had gotten to him, but he kept finding Bruce dozing off in random places.  In the batcave; by the dinner table. Maybe Bruce just had a thing for sleeping in chairs? Well whatever it was, if Bruce wouldn’t speak to him, he would have to speak to someone else. And who was the first person Alfred thought of? Naturally Bruce’s childhood best friend! Rachel Dawes. He told Bruce she would be coming over for lunch.

“Would you two fancy some tea?” Alfred glanced meaningly at Rachel who was taking a slice of pie apart with a teaspoon. Now is the time- she understood and nodded with a polite smile.

“ It’s nice to see you, Bruce.” The Bruce she was speaking to was presently zoning out, staring into the pie, barely blinking, as if it held all the secrets of the universe and they’d come to him if he just stared into it a bit longer. After quite a few moments it occurred to him that he had been spoken to.

“Hmm” He grumbled absent-mindedly “Yes yes, nice to see you too.” It was so strange, he never treated her this distantly, he had always been so delighted to talk to her, even if she treated him more hostilely at times. When she acted that way, it wasn’t because she hated Bruce, it was for his own good- he was too foolish at moments and needed the reprimandings. Even when the man had been down below and lost in life, he listened to Rachel, and respected her, and now he was almost ignoring her.

She was torn out of her thoughts when he suddenly jerked up and stared with wide eyes- into her’s, as if he had just seen a ghost. He then squinted and stared, like he was trying to figure something out. He mumbled something unintelligible about eyes? Her eyes? Dear. Alfred was right (of course). Something was very wrong. Did he bang his head when carelessly chasing criminals? She was starting to get royally creeped out when he suddenly spoke.

 “Your eyes? What colour are your eyes?”

“What?”

“What colour are your eyes?” Bruce repeated his question as if it made more sense now. Rachel was taken aback, to say the least.

“Green. Why?”

“Hm. I never could tell.”

“Bruce. When did you last sleep?”

“And I never asked.”

 He continued after a moment of silence in which Rachel was trying to gather her thoughts.”I thought it would come across as flirting. How stupid.”

“Well this is far from flirting.” She tried to go along with his nonsense. It didn’t work.

“That’s because I’m not flirting with you. What don’t you understand?”

Rachel sputtered in confusion and frustration. “Anything! I don’t understand anything you’re saying!” She stood up and threw her arms up in desperation. Bruce silently observed as she calmed herself down. With a deep sigh, she sat back down.

“I don’t get it, Bruce. What happened? I haven’t heard of any controversial public appearances of yours in weeks. Tell me, what's going on?” Her tone fully softened with her last words. She was genuinely worried for him. And it wasn’t like she deliberately was checking up on Bruce in the newspapers, no of course not, it was just that all her friends would tell her the hot gotham gossip, even if she didn’t care or want to hear about Bruce Wayne’s most recent antics. Once it stopped for a little too long, everybody assumed he went on vacation, but here he was, still in his manor, looking and acting absolutely miserable.

“I’m following medical advice; I’m taking a break from work. Dr. Crane suggested.” He closed his stinging eyes and allowed himself this once to think about him.

“You don’t look like you’re taking a break from work- wait, did you say Dr. Crane? Doctor Jonathan Crane??”

“Mhm” He hummed, still thinking about mighty Dr. Crane sitting behind his cluttered desk, glaring at Bruce.

“Why was that creep giving you medical advice?” Bruce’s eyes snapped open.

“Because I had an appointment with him- and what do you mean by ‘creep’?”

“He’s the one keeping criminals out of blackgate! He just has them sent to Arkham.”  She had concern written all over her face, as she recalled the doctor in her mind. Her voice lowered down like she was telling ghost stories by a campfire. “They somehow..”-  She hesitated, afraid of her words sounding crazy. But this was Bruce Wayne she was talking to. The Batman. She couldn’t get crazier than he was.- “..Get more psychotic after speaking with him, during their, you know- assessment.” If Bruce’s stomach dropped at that, it was only his business, and he certainly didn’t let it show. “ And what do you mean- appointment..?”

Psychotic? No, Bruce wasn’t psychotic. He had his quirks but he wasn’t mental like that! And the way he was acting after the appointment.. It wasn’t psychotic. Right? He just… couldn’t get the image of the doctor out of his mind. He wasn’t psychotic! Seriously!

However, now that he thought back, Dr. Crane may have been a biiiit creepy. Honestly Bruce blamed the unease he felt towards the doctor during the session on his unexplained wave of anxiety that hit him earlier. He thought he was overreacting, after all he did act quite a bit irrationally.

I have my methods. Fuck. Maybe he hadn’t been overreacting.

Due to Bruce’s lack of continuation of the conversation, Rachel started to panic.

“Oh god. He did something to you, didn't he??”

That almost anaemic-looking skin tone. That perfectly tailored navy blue suit and tie. And that slicked back, dark hair that created the perfect contrast with his eyes. Oh those eyes. They were so perfect. So much more perfect than Rachel’s, whose were unclearly coloured, like a puddle or a swamp. How did he ever find her attractive when Dr Crane existed? How could he find anyone attractive now that he had met Dr. Crane?

Oh you have no clue, Rachel.- He wanted to answer, but instead he smiled and glared into her eyes with an accompanying newfound tinge of disgust for them. Nothing another appointment wouldn’t fix. He almost chuckled at the thought.

Nothing another appointment wouldn’t fix. Yes. He had to schedule another appointment.

“I'm sorry I worried you, Rachel. I’m fine.” Nothing another appointment wouldn’t fix.

He sobered up and put on a serious look on his face. He didn’t want to scare her anymore than he already did. “I’ve just.. Had some trouble sleeping.” Nothing another appointment wouldn’t fix. She visibly calmed down a little.

Nothing another appointment wouldn’t fix.

“Nothing another appointment wouldn’t fix.”

Chapter Text

Jonathan walked up to a barely lit, decrepit warehouse through the darkness, still in his business suit. 

* buzz buzz *

Fuck, he didn’t turn his phone off. He was lucky it went off now as the gang he was meeting would probably think it was a setup or something. Which it was, but it would be better if they didn’t know that. He took his mobile out of his pocket. The lock screen read 11:24, it was still early in the night and he had business to do. It was his clinic secretary messaging him about a new appointment or something along the lines of that, he barely skimmed over the message when he read a familiar name somewhere in the short text. His eyes focused on the message. Ah, Bruce Wayne. Yes, he was hoping to meet him again, that mystery of a man. How very fun. He had quite some guts, Jonathan had to admit. Patients rarely rescheduled so soon from their own free will. 

He wasn’t complaining though, he’d’ve loved to crack open Bruce’s head and take a look around his brain. There was something about Bruce, something more than he let the public in on. Maybe find out more about his fears and how they affected his day-to-day life. Oh how fun that would be!

Right, he was standing in front of a warehouse he was going to have a meeting in . He was in need of more thugs and this would be a little.. test of courage. He shut his phone off and pulled his mask out of the briefcase. He felt the familiar texture of rough burlap on his skin and the lingering smell of fear toxin he used a few nights before. It was an acrid smell, of chemicals that shouldn’t be ever combined. The lingering smell alone could probably make the weak minded pale. To him, however, it brought back the good memory of attacking a pharmacist. He wished he could have watched the man thrash and writhe in terror a little longer, but after getting all he needed, he had no reason to stay longer and put himself in risk. The pharmacist was soon out anyway. When the police would arrive, he wouldn’t remember anything. It was the perfect drug for situations like that!  

He took a deep breath, inhaling the fumes. This certain drug wouldn’t do anything to him, due to all the exposure he already had to it.

He pushed the creaking door open and instantly found 7 guns pointed at him. How nice.

“Hello gentlemen.” One smart- or maybe stupid (but very brave) soul lowered the gun, realising it was the guy they were meant to meet, however none of them spoke. They shot a few unsure glances at each other. They were afraid (as they should). He enjoyed their fear before showing his empty hands and continuing.

“We’re gathered here today to-”

“You got a job for us.” The most aggressive and irrational looking man interrupted. He also had the largest gun. Jonathan knew the type, a giant coward who thinks he could fight his big fears with a big gun. Moments earlier none of them were so eager to speak. He shot the man a look.

“No, we're here to test you.” 

“Test us?” A visibly inexperienced man on the left spoke. He was so very noticeably afraid.

“Test your-” Jonathan sucked in a breath in an annoying way. “-efficiency. I can’t have just anyone working for me.”

 The man who lowered his gun earlier, pointed it at him again, visibly annoyed by the statement.

“And how’re ya gonna do that?” Oh what a sight. Seven men shakily pointing seven guns at him. He almost felt honoured.

“Well” he haphazardly waved at the guns surrounding him. “For starters, it would be better if you left your guns out of this.” He was met with shouts of protest from the good American citizens preaching their rights to the second amendment. He smiled widely under his mask and hoped that the thugs could sense it. It was only a suggestion. For their benefit as well. Hey, whatever, if this group all killed each other with their pistols and AK- whichevers, he could always find another one. Plenty of fish in the sea, especially in Gotham. 

“Now, now, settle down.” He said, his hands in the air again, as a sign of resignation. They didn’t really settle down though, well some did, seeing as he didn’t take their guns yet, but to some, the mere suggestion of letting go of them was in itself outrageous.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He chuckled and slipped back out the door, before they could pull any triggers. 

When they all shut up in bafflement, and one man ran to open the door after the Scarecrow, they found it was locked.

“Little fucker!” Jonathan heard him shout. He also heard the others go and try other doors, just to find out all of them were locked and they were all stuck inside this rotting warehouse.

“Scarecrow son-of-a-bitch!” He could think of a dozen better insults, but he was the bigger person here (obviously) and stayed silent as the curses and threats from the other side of the door piled up, basking in the little traitorous tremors in the men’s voices.

It was time to begin the test.

“Toxin type..S.05…Batch: 006…seven adult male subjects…” He muttered under his breath to himself, he regrettably didn't bring his recorder and preferred not to have such.. sensitive information on his cellphone. So he would just have to note what he remembered down when he got back, and he felt this wouldn’t be a forgettable experiment. “Testing begins… now.”

Within seconds, yellow gas entered the warehouse through air vents. Scarecrow couldn’t see inside but he sure could hear very well.

First the shouts at him died down in confusion, and obviously fear, and very quickly transformed into whimpers and occasional yells. Nothing bloodcurdling yet. Very soon however, that changed.

 About fifteen seconds in, their yells developed to screams. Non-stop screams.

 A single shot went off. It was like a match being dropped on a gasoline soaked floor, nothing being capable of stopping the next moments of destruction, of continuous shooting from all of the guns. In Jonathan’s professional opinion, they weren't fully idiots, thinking they could protect themselves from bullets, by shooting bullets. It was after all their purely animalistic fight-or-flight response, and since he sort of took away their flight option, all that was left was fight. It was just a shame that the guns would ease and shorten the fight. And make it so loud. Shots being fired, bullets bouncing off walls, endless screams. Who knew such a small group of people could make so much noise.

Jonathan didn't realise he had closed his eyes until he opened them and the view had changed. There was now a giant circle in the sky- the bat signal. A bit tacky if you asked him. Looming over poor suffering citizens threatening them for if they were to ever step over the line of law. Not that he cared about them. But conditioning people with fear. He couldn't help but respect that. Even if it was meant to scare people like him.

Those thugs were still making so much noise, many probably dead and most out of ammunition, they were still somehow yelling and screaming and fighting and wailing. And wailing. Wait. Police sirens. He looked back up at the sky. Fuck. 

It was already too late.

A gust of wind blew, making leaves on a tree rustle. He sharply turned his head in all directions looking out for the batman. He remembered a little something someone sometime had told him " you never think he's coming for you ." Something along the lines of that. Who said it? Probably one of many criminals he assessed, who got their ass beat by Batman, and were still shaking at the thought of the man hours later.

He wasn't afraid-just a little paranoid. That was something different, just a little symptom of fear-but he wasn't afraid!

He had to get out of there. Quickly.

 The thugs were doomed to all kill each other or go mad anyway. He knew there was no hope left for them after the way they acted when only just speaking with him. Cowards. All of them. He didn’t care what happened to them. He just had to get out of there. 

Maybe his toxin did still have a small effect on him because he could've sworn he saw something in the corner of his eye. It was so dark that he couldn’t tell what was real and what was an illusion. Hallucinations. Just a symptom of the toxin. It must've been really strong to affect him- a small object shot straight past him and hit the wall and oh goody now he knew he wasn't hallucinating. It was a... knife? A dart? In the shape of a - oh shit.

Well now he was screwed.

He turned and as he expected, was met with the sight of a dark cloaked figure, almost just how the newspapers described him. Wow what a man. His eyes scaled the figure, what muscles on the suit, he wondered if they looked the same underneath. What a shame that in that second one of the men screamed, and then another one joined his screaming, and this was no way to lead a conversation. Batman clearly startled for a moment, probably in shock that the noises were coming from humans. Jonathan wished they would just shoot each other, that's all they were good for. One of the men screeched a terrifying:

"SCARECROW!!!!!!" Ah, what a shame he didn't get the chance to introduce himself. As their voices died down, he noticed Batman was dangerously close, about 2 metres away.

"What have you done!?" An unnaturally rough voice came from the man.

"Who? Me?" He chuckled. Batman started rapidly approaching. "They did it to themselves. I'm just an innocent bystan-" he got hit against the wall, the burlap not doing much to shield the back of his head. For a second his vision went black, with white spots dancing around like little ghosts. Ouch. 

"Innocent?! You did this!" Now he was reaching up to take Scarecrow’s mask off, police sirens louder than he ever thought he heard. Not like this, not because of a few fools. He acted instinctively, slipping a spray bottle from the inside of his sleeve, and gassing the batman. Thank the gods that he left the gas he took to the pharmacy in his suit.

Batman instantly dropped Scarecrow and backed off, waving away imaginary attackers.

 He'd've really loved to find out the man's greatest fears, it was batman after all. But his head hurt like a bitch, and his vision was swimming, and Batman’s screams, that he would love hearing every other time, were nauseating and deafening and so were the police sirens. Another time. He slipped into the bushes, almost tripping over his own foot, and collapsing when he got far enough away.

 He crawled in those bristly bushes for what felt like a whole day before he noticed the lack of his briefcase. Which obviously remarkably cleared his head, as he sprang straight up and ran back to the crime scene.

When Batman woke up, the first thing he saw was a weirdly concerned looking Jim Gordon towering over him. He sat up and grabbed his head. Luckily his cowl was still on. He observed that he was on the cot of a parked ambulance.

"What happened?" He growled.

"It seems you had a run in with the-"

"Scarecrow." He couldn’t remember anything but a scream of that name still rippled fresh in his mind. Thinking hurt.

"Yep. There was a gang in the shed. Three survivors, one  heavily unstable. The other two survived with some injury. All four died of gunshots, but the weirdest thing of all, is they all have self inflicted injuries, and -" batman was already out of the ambulance he was laying in. When he left, all the policemen eyed him warily, one crooked cop- a middle aged and bold Marcus Horace- Batman knew all about him and his dirty jobs for the mob- walked up to him and pushed him.

"Hey man! This was our case! You jackass got beat and you let the mother-fucker escape!" Batman only half listened, looking around for any trace of the man that he fought, it was hard though, with Horace all up in his face. 

"I should arrest you right now! Y'know what?! I will!" He took out his handcuffs. The man was wasting both of their time by putting on this petty show. "-Batman you have the right to remain silent, anything you say-'' 

Batman glanced over the onlookers and a familiar refined face stuck on his eyes. He stilled. Wait, did he really see him? He took a look back at the crowd and there he was- Dr Crane, staring back at him. The man looked dishevelled, like he took a tumble down a rocky hill, yet he was still somehow mesmerising, with a smug look on his face. He didn’t have glasses on, Batman noticed, maybe he wore contact lenses.. Wait what would he be doing here? No, it had to be his mind. He had to be still affected whatever he was dosed with. He blinked and the man was still there, still amongst the crowd of random onlookers and officers. He stepped back from the front row of the crowd and disappeared. Was he real?-

"-can and will be used against you in the court of law-" The moron grabbed Batman's arm and tried to force it behind him.

"Horace! Stop!" Gordon tried to interfere from afar.

 Batman fought back and tripped the man with quite a lot of ease. That's when the chaos began.

 A gunshot came from somewhere, and all hell broke loose. People running and shouting, officers trying to figure who shot where; if it was a policeman or an intruder, and really not getting anywhere in the chaos.

 Batman jumped behind a tree. If it was him who was shot at, he couldn't put the citizens in danger by getting near them, despite his stinging need to follow the doctor. Why would he be here? He must've been hallucinating because of the scarecrow, hallucinating the subject of his desires. He had to stop thinking about the doctor and do something, quickly. He glanced from behind the tree, at the warehouse, and not far from the door, he was surprised to see the doctor again. Dusting off his suit before picking up his briefcase, looking around cautiously and walking off into the darkness. What an odd thing to see, no way it was real- the rational part of his mind told him. Another part of it was perplexed and calmed by the sight. A zen garden among utter chaos. A beacon in the darkness, that only Batman seemed to see.

A beacon in the darkness. That's what they needed.

Meanwhile, Gordon was busy wondering where the hell the dark knight was, in this dark night. It was a terribly dark night, too much for the dark knight it would seem, as he was absolutely nowhere to be seen. Maybe he had put too much trust in the man, for he had abandoned him now, when instead of fighting common criminals, they needed to calm down and protect innocent people. Perhaps he worked only as a symbol of hope for the masses, but when it came to it, he couldn't help just a few terrified individuals.

 All his conundrums were interrupted when a blinding light shone on him from above, like the sun decided to show up in the middle of the night. He blinked a few times to adjust to the light, and he found that the entire area surrounding the crime scene was being illuminated by a beam of light coming from the sky.

 He looked up and saw a silhouette of a bat cutting through the light gliding down, towards him. Gordon realised it was the bat signal pointed at them from the GCPD precinct. It felt like the bat signal came to life to assist in a time of need-or more like the bat from the bat signal came to life and was nearing them. Clever. It would seem they weren't abandoned.

"Thank you." Jim spoke to a man he wasn’t sure was there. But he needed to thank Batman, even if he wasn't there to hear. "Thank you for helping them.. Us." The wind howled and whistled, and he sucked in cold air, suppressing the need for nicotine.

...

 "Thank you for helping me."

"You don’t need to thank me..." Oh so Batman was there. “We didn’t catch him..”

"We will, if we work together properly."

...

"But before that, you should probably see a specialist about what happened to you earlier. You were in a terrible state when we got there." "Here I've got a number somewhere-" when he turned around, the darkness was darkness again, nothing more.

But Batman didn't need the number, he already had an appointment.

Chapter Text

Bruce made a mistake. 

He knew it would be one from the moment the thought even crossed his mind. But it gave his anxiety a well needed relief.

He was taking back control in his own sick way. Instead of getting ready to leave the manor for his appointment, he went down to the caves. Instead of putting on a normal jacket and some nice shoes, he changed into the batsuit and sat down before the extravagant computer. This was the right thing to do, or so he told himself.

 Suspicion gnawed at him. He saw the doctor near the crime scene just a few days prior, and he really couldn’t let it go. But did he, actually? What was the worst was the uncertainty. He didn’t trust his eyes. What good is a Batman who’s going mad? For a little while now, he was a bit nervy, just a bit. But that was something completely different. Now every time he thought of Dr Crane, his stomach would drop, and his heart would race. 

What emotion was he experiencing exactly? The thought of Crane was accompanied by reminders of his failures and fears. He convinced himself that the scarecrow did something to him, and perhaps he had been on the right track by booking another appointment with the doctor. But he just had to fail at that too.

 He failed. He wasn’t going to the appointment. He was too afraid and chose the easier option. To avoid what might have helped him. To question it. To bite the hand that feeds. To look up it’s- his information on the batcomputer.

Dr. Jonathan Crane. Age:31 

A news article came up. Bruce wouldn’t have paid it any mind if not for the headline. “ Gotham U professor dismissed for firing gun at students. ” 

What now? He stared at the headline in disbelief for a few moments, wondering how Crane wasn’t in prison. And how he could do something like that. His curiosity won as he clicked on it.

Oh. The gun was a blank. He didn’t (physically) hurt anyone. For some reason, despite how much Bruce hated guns, he subconsciously tried defending the man in his head. The article said Crane did it as a teaching method-Okay. No. Enough of that.

He went back to reading the man’s batcomputer-verified information. He came here just for his address.

It was 30 minutes till his appointment when Bruce left the batcave in his Batmobile. He should have been in his Porsche or other nice and normal car on the road to the clinic. Instead, he was on the way to Dr Crane’s apartment. From the batcomputer he found out that the man didn’t have a spouse or any family. Like at all. Maybe they were similar in a way. But Jonathan probably didn’t have a butler.

 And so since Crane would be at the clinic, waiting for Bruce, his apartment would most likely be empty. Bruce couldn’t lie-he felt really bad for this. Letting the man wait for him while snooping around in his home. Wasting his time like that. He’d pay him-obviously. Maybe even double to be polite- and make an excuse. Maybe something about a crisis at work or about meeting an old friend who was about to leave Gotham. Whatever. He’d think about it later. For now, he had to concentrate on getting into the apartment unnoticed. 

Bruce parked the car in an alley, a few blocks away from the address. This wasn’t the nicest of neighbourhoods in the city, but it was far better than the narrows. Its buildings-old and tall, and the alleyways cramped and dark, not that different from most of Gotham. Full of places just waiting for tragedies to happen within them, full of alleys for three people to walk in and only one to exit.

 Classrooms are built to teach and discipline-with the teacher at the front, looming over their students, showing their unquestionable superiority and authority, and just like that, Gotham was built to corrupt and be corrupted. From the very foundations, the city was flawed. It did the worst to people, turning them into monsters from just wanting to lead a normal life. Normality was gone in Gotham. And Batman was a testament to that. Normal cities with normal people didn’t have caped crusaders flying around at night. The city was a monster. It’s people-monsters. And he, too, was a monster for loving Gotham. For not being able to let it go. It was like Bruce was trying to help a drowning man, also getting drowned in the process-Gotham’s arm dunking his head under the water to try and get a breath of air. Who knew whether either of them would resurface or if they’d both drown.

The closer Bruce got to Crane’s apartment, the harder it was to breath and the worse his thoughts were getting. He had to pause for a breather on the balcony. Was he having a panic attack again? He shamelessly imagined Dr Crane hugging him and comforting him, like the last time this happened. This time it didn’t work. It was still hard to breathe. Bruce took a look around whilst trying to calm down and came to notice that all the surrounding apartments seemed odd. Either their windows were boarded up or they were abandoned. All except for Crane’s. Something must’ve happened. This was a mistake. It was more than just avoiding therapy. He could’ve avoided therapy by staying in the manor, where he was safe. This was walking into the lion’s den. But why? What lion’s? Was he afraid of his therapist or just his own mind? His own mind? Did he open a Pandora’s box of his own mind by going to therapy once? A box filled with self-doubt and fear? He wasn’t aware that therapy was this effective, or that he had so many worries that he now wanted to squeeze back into that box and forget about. 

All he could do for now was distract himself. Right. He was on Dr Crane’s balcony. He came here for a reason. A reason he didn’t have anymore after some realisations. He wanted to blame his instability on something. He wanted an outside source for all his problems, so getting rid of them would be all in a night's work. But alas, they were all his problems. Not Dr Crane’s. Not the scarecrow’s. Not any criminal’s. His. There could be nothing in his doctor’s home that he could put all the blame on. But he was here. And it wouldn’t hurt to look around. Probably. 

He entered the apartment and was instantly in awe of the amount of books that were… everywhere. And also straw? Why was there straw on the floor? But more importantly, books. Every surface had books on them. The floor, the table, the couch, the bookshelf-He looked at the bookshelf and two black eyes stared back. Bruce almost jumped, seeing it- a Corvus corone corone. He stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at it for a bit too long until he realised the thing was dead-taxidermied.

 Amongst all the thick books stood a dead bird. What an… interesting thing to keep on a cluttered bookshelf. From the one or maybe two times he met the doctor, he could tell that the man was somewhat weird. Dr Crane definitely wasn’t rich and from the looks of it he spent all the money he did have on books. Bruce decided to not think too hard about the taxidermied crow that was forever stuck with a dangerous glare, or where or how or why the doctor got it. Or why there was so much straw on the floor. He didn’t want to judge. Everybody has their own weird thing that they have in their house. Like a bookshelf cadaver or a secret cave filled with weaponry. He walked up to a round table, to where a chair was pushed away from it. The table was covered with books and papers, yet there was a clean spot on it. As if something lied there before the surrounding space became cluttered, without itself becoming covered. But it was now gone. Maybe it was another book, or a laptop, or a notebook?. That would make sense. A cup of stale coffee sat on a book right by the clean spot. Which meant that the object was still here this morning-Bruce stopped, realising how weird it was that he was using his detective skills on such unimportant matters. He was acting like a stalker for Pete’s sake. This was wrong. The doctor was just educated. That's it. His eyes involuntarily wandered to the page the coffee was standing on.

‘ Ophthalmophobia- The fear of being stared at.’

Chills went down his spine. The thought of the crow’s eyes beaming into him suddenly entered his mind. He could almost feel its eyes on his back. No. He was imagining this. He didn’t fear a bird looking at him! It couldn’t even be looking at him-It was dead! He turned around to face it- his fear, and was met with a small, sad carcass of a bird. One that used to be something, and now was just a decoration on a shelf. He conquered it! He conquered his fear. Well. A fear. One that only became one moments ago. One that wasn’t truly a fear, it was just something he was a little creeped out by. It was just a distraction from his true fears, but conquering it meant that he could conquer those too. All he needed was courage and to be able to think: I’m not afraid of you. To see the fears as small as they were.

He was so proud of himself standing up to the staring corpse, when he heard a key being turned in the keyhole.

 The doctor had returned. The man walked in through the front door, holding a business case with his left hand. He had a phone held between his right shoulder and his head. He was talking with someone. 

“Good…” He stilled as he walked into the living room. Oh no. Did he notice something off? Did Bruce leave any traces? He stood there looking around until he slowly walked to the table. “Yes… Let me write that down.” He grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something down. ”Don’t worry about the payment.” He said with a chuckle. Bruce’s interest was piqued. “Yes, I’ll be there.”-Was the last thing Crane said before he hung up and slowly put his phone on the table. He cautiously turned around, seemingly unsure of his solidarity.

“Who's there?”

Bruce remained in the shadows where he was not seen. Crane walked up to the crow.

“Did you see anybody, Nightmare?” He asked. Bruce did not expect it to have a name. “Hm.” He shrugged and sat down on a chair, where he reached for his morning coffee. Batman was long gone by then. He unknowingly missed the disgusting sight of Crane drinking stale coffee, but one thing he did see was the address that the man scribbled down.

Chapter Text

The city wasn’t always black and white and grey, there was sometimes a blue luminosity to it, a melancholic coldness that you would briefly, but completely understand in your loneliest moment. You would have an epiphany, but not a pleasant or rewarding one, where through all the waves of somberness, one would pass where you’d figure that you're just as blue as your surroundings. That you were no different from the city itself.

Very seldom would there ever come a day when the strays of sunlight would finally ignore everything in their way, all the fog and pollution, the colossal skyscrapers and monumental tenements. When they would touch the starved, cold pavement and the wet asphalt. Warm up the city a little. Unfortunately, it was not built for warmth, it was built to survive the unrelenting cold climate, all the storms and rain and hail, with the thick concrete walls and concrete floors and concrete ceilings, so when the heat did strike, it quickly became unbearable. Despite all the longing for the sun’s warm embrace, the people easily turned on it. They longed for something they would inevitably hate. The people were stuck in an endless cycle of wanting just something else, rarely satisfied with what they did have. They were despondent and cruel to themselves and others, whilst all were suffering. Nobody in Gotham was much different than Gotham itself.

And Batman wasn’t either. He took advantage of the constant darkness. It helped him spread fear. Unfortunately he wasn’t the only one who came up with that idea. 

He suppressed a shiver as he thought back to his brief meeting with the one calling themself Scarecrow. The masked person who weaponized Batman’s nervous system against him. And though he didn’t remember what he saw back then, before passing out before the warehouse, he knew it was pure and utter terror. What happened there, did something to him, something bad, although he couldn’t let that thought reach him entirely. That would mean that he’d have to change his behaviour. Actually do something proper for himself and his mental state.

Like stop spying on his therapist…

Well, he was already here, there was no point in turning back now, even if he was aware of his stupidity.

9.40 PM. West docks. Batman watched the area from atop a nearby building as he awaited. This was the date when Dr Crane was supposed to meet someone. Bruce didn’t know who or why but the time and place the man had noted down was quite a bit suspicious. What was a psychologist taking care of on the docks - a common crime site - in the middle of night?

Then again, he knew this was none of his business and this was wrong. But there was a twinge in his stomach whenever he considered not following the lead - if you could even call it that. He didn’t even know what he was signing up for, what was going to happen, yet he needed to be here- to know. For however long this was going on for now, he felt he was pulled to know more about what was going on. About why he kept feeling these… things. And what it meant for him. Most of the fondness Bruce had for the doctor turned into something worse ever since he went to his apartment. Most of the dreams of Crane were now nightmares. He could have blamed it on the scarecrow ambush, but he knew that it wasn’t completely at fault.

 The area filled with shipping containers was very poorly lit. The old street lamps flickered, so it was very noticeable when a car pulled up nearby. It was a pretty beat down yellowish car. Finally something. Then nothing. The car stood. Nobody entered it. Nobody left it. It just stood. Batman glided down silently and hid behind a nearby crate. He watched for a moment before getting closer to the car. The window by the driver seat was rolled down. Fools.

Batman listened to the sounds- the conversation being had in the car.

“-I’m telling you, you gotta stop asking questions. They don’t like that. I don't wanna get killed off for your big mouth-”

“We have not the slightest idea why we’re here, Sal. How do you know they didn’t send us here just for that?”

“Well they sure will if you don’t shut your mug Gigi.”

“...”

Neither man in the car spoke. They were just some rookies sent here for reasons unknown even to them. Batman could probably scare some information out of them, they already seemed afraid, but they most likely had weapond. Who in their right mind would come here unarmed?

“Who sent you here and why?” Batman grumbled in his deep voice, not uncovering himself. Both men yelled. More than people usually yelled at scares like this.

“Fal-!”

“Who’s there?!” The driver jumped out of the car, whilst out-yelling his companion. He turned around rapidly looking for Batman who was hidden from the man’s sight. He looked very young. Batman jumped at him and tackled him from behind.

“Who sent you?” He asked again.

“‘I’m not fucking telling you that!- Arhg!” Batman pulled the guy’s head back a bit by the hair.

“Get off of him!” An even younger guy shouted and when Batman looked up at him he was shakily pointing a gun at Batman. He obviously had no experience or courage, which made him dangerous. Just like Joe Chill.

“Let go of my goddamn gun, Gigi!” The man underneath Batman scolded. From the earlier conversation it seemed that his name, or nickname was probably Sal. “You’ll end up shooting me you moron!”

“Who do you work for?!” Batman demanded again.

 “Are you stupid?! Are you both stupid?!” Sal yelled out. “We’re not the ones you want”

“What do you mean by that?” Batman inquired as Gigi nervously lowered the gun.

 “We're just bait here!” He yelled out.”We’re here just so they can get him!” That didn’t ease Batman’s nor Gigi’s confusion.

“Who-” Gigi muttered.

“He’s right about that.” A ghoulish voice came from behind and frightened the lot of them. Batman quickly turned to see who the voice belonged to, but even without, he knew who he’d see. Scarecrow. He was right of course. The masked figure stood there, seemingly unarmed, like it had come to offer peace or something. Batman knew better. He froze, unsure how to act. They all did. Gigi and the man still pinned down by Batman, didn’t move an inch. The Scarecrow didn’t either, it was waiting for their reactions. 

“Scarecrow.” Batman snarled and carefully got off Sal - while still staying in a half crouch - which sprung up and ran to Gigi’s side.

“Careful. Say it three times and who knows what’ll happen?” Scarecrow joked back.

“You-” Batman got up and almost lunged at the thing but stopped when a hand raised for him to stop. “We're being watched. Is this how you want to act before the eyes of others?” Normally a cryptic sentence like that would never stop him from apprehending a criminal, but something that was said made him feel a sinking weight in his stomach and a tightness in his muscles. Batman tensed up. He had a feeling that the other ’s it was referring to weren’t the lackeys standing there, shaking.

Batman could not, even if he tried, to imagine a face under that hideous burlap mask. The mask to him was the face, but he had a feeling that the (probably) man was smiling underneath it. He probably felt so clever, and honestly, he was.

Scarecrow turned his head to the poor guys.

“You’re so smart aren’t you? You figured it out.” He was speaking to Sal, who knew they were bait. “What’s a smart kid like you doing working for such-” Scarecrow inhaled obnoxiously. “-dangerous people?” He tilted his head as a sign of curiosity, but really he was just trying to get into the poor guy’s head. Sal paled. “I was hoping  this would end… differently. Maybe something like the - as they now call it - ‘ warehouse massacre ’.” Batman felt his blood boil in rage. “Oh but Batman didn’t come too late this time.” No. Scarecrow couldn’t do this. He couldn’t turn his own atrocity against Batman.

“How dare you?!” Batman roared back. Behind him Sal ripped the pistol out of Gigi’s hand and pointed it at Scarecrow. 

“Ohoho! The one time I underestimate the power of fear!” Batman turned to see that sight once again. One he had seen way too many times. A scared man holding a gun.

“It’s okay. Drop the gun.” Batman tried his hardest to be gentle, to do a soft voice. Just like his father had years ago. And just like his father, he failed at calming the man down, because the gun was now pointed right towards him.

“Oh Batman, even if this poor kid doesn’t shoot us, one of the snipers will.”

“What-?” And before Batman could fully comprehend what was said to him, a hand grabbed at his mouth and a cloud of yellowish gas surrounded them. In all the confusion, he let himself get dragged away. All he could think about for a moment before he passed out was Dr Crane, despite the echoing sounds of bullets and a sudden sharp pain in his leg.

He came to, looking up at the grey clouded night sky. The stars were never seen from Gotham. Too much air and light pollution from such a large city. Sometimes the moon was visible, but honestly, the bat signal replaced it for the people of Gotham. For comfort they looked up to the familiar symbol of a bat, surrounded by the light, not to the moon. The symbol of hope was man made, unlike the moon but it was made by the best of men. By Jim Gordon, someone he completely trusted and felt safe around after the darkest moment in his life, and who he continued to trust as he grew up. Tonight, neither were visible and Batman was just staring into the sad, dusky void. An intimate feeling he knew too well shrouded his chest, as the void stared back. One of regret, desolation and loneliness, which was very quickly interrupted when he felt a squeeze around his awfully hurting thigh. Batman jolted his torso up from his laying position to see what was touching him.

What he didn’t expect to see was Scarecrow tying a piece of fabric around Batman’s bloodied leg to minimise the bleeding. And that was exactly what he saw. Scarecrow's hands were covered in blood, definitely Batman’s blood, as he was uninjured. He noticed Batman was looking at him and sort of stopped what he was doing. 

“You should uh, get that checked out.” His voice was filled with nerves, despite obviously trying to keep the mood light. Without giving his situation too much thought, Batman lunged at Scarecrow and pushed him down, pinning his shoulders to the ground. “You’re going to worsen it!” He sounded like he actually cared.

“Why?” Batman growled through the pain.

“When I said I wanted a repeat of the warehouse massacre, I didn’t mean with you in it!” That wasn’t a very good answer- Batman thought, analysing the details of the scarecrow mask - the stitchings and uneven eye-holes - as if they held the secret why Scarecrow helped him when a horrifying thought struck him. He quickly let go of those bony shoulders and grabbed at his face, and oh the relief he felt when his cowl was still on his head. But then again the Scarecrow could have taken it off when he was-

“I didn’t take it off, calm down. I have my rules and respect. As one masked freak to another. Wouldn’t want that to happen to me so I didn’t do it to you.” 

“You’re full of shit.” Bruce growled out. That wasn’t something he said a lot as Batman. “Do you want to get shot? Is that why you got those men to kill each other?” The Scarecrow chuckled at the question. This was fun for him.

“I wasn’t the one shooting, they all did it to each other, like you just said. I just stood and listened. I’m actually pretty skilled at listening to people, unlike you.” He just stood and listened. What an evil man he was. An evil man who for some reason tended to Batman’s gunshot wound seemingly from the kindness of his heart. He was undoubtedly a murderer, even if he hadn’t been the one holding the gun back then. But why? What did he gain from a warehouse of dead thugs? From the police reports, they still had wallets and personal items on them. What was the point of locking them in there for them to die? All the police could come up with was Scarecrow's own sadistic pleasure.

I just stood and listened.

Batman stared into the eyeholes of the masked murderer as confusion clouded his mind. Why? Why? Why? Why did he help him? Why did he even bother to get him out of there? Why was he even there in the first place? And where the hell was Crane? Why was it getting harder to make sense of anything or even think? Why was he getting all drowsy?

Scarecrow observed how he was starting to tip over as he stated:

“Batman you’re losing a lot of blood.”

Batman just sat down as he started to pay attention to the surroundings, besides the sky for the first time, and he realised they were in some alleyway between slummy, old buildings. He started noticing the similarity to his parents’ death in crime alley and- oh.

Was he dying?

He was dying.

He didn’t even feel when his back hit the ground, but he did see the sliver of the grey sky above him. Scarecrow was definitely saying something, but he heard nothing, and he looked at Batman in panic - odd, the once motionless mask was contorting its features into a look of terror. Or had it always looked that way? Whatever, but as the mask looked down on him , through the ragged eye holes, he imagined something resembling eyes on the other side. The thought brought him the bumbling desire for someone else’s eyes to be there, with him. All he felt was longing. No pain or hatred. Just really strong longing. And though he couldn’t remember anything about the owner of those eyes now, he knew that he immensely missed him. 

And that he loved him.

👁

He awoke in a small hospital room. He survived. White sunlight filtered through the room's blinds. Sunlight he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again. Gordon was sitting at his left, looking awfully unhappy. Something very similar happened once before, hadn’t it?

“Batman. You’re awake.” Gordon stated, not seeming very relieved by that. “You nearly bled out to death.” He mumbled unsatisfyingly.

“Gordon…” Batman rasped back, trying to make sense of the miracle that was his survival.

“Don’t ‘Gordon’ me, Batman!” He raised his voice and got up from the chair. “You didn’t warn us that anything would happen, but we found you near the crime scene goddamn bleeding to death! Did you even realise you got involved with mafia business?! Why didn’t you warn us?! You could have…” Gordon turned away from Batman and sighed. “You were so close to dying…”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me, Batman.” He had a moment of sombre silence. “People died.”

“Who?” Batman asked quietly, as he felt guilt envelop him.

“Two young brothers. Salvatore and Giovanni Leone. God their mother didn’t even know they were involved with…” Sal and Gigi. They were both gone.

“How…?”

“Shot.” Gordon wasn’t in the mood to say a lot.

“From a sniper rifle?” Batman thought back to what Scarecrow said, that snipers were watching them. To be honest he didn't even know who he himself got shot by, Sal or a sniper?

“...No. It was a uh, G26, that Falcone is known to carry around.” Gordon looked at the floor. By Falcone himself? Those poor boys. He thought back to the conversation he overheard. Gigi was afraid of getting disposed of by their higher ups, while Sal was afraid of his brother saying too much; asking too much. He wished they hadn’t been right about their fears. They were obviously in a bad situation, to have gotten involved with Falcone. Falcone. Why was Scarecrow doing business with Falcone- actually scratch that- why was Falcone seemingly trying to kill Scarecrow? There was so much he needed to think about.

Batman tried getting off the hospital cot, and Gordon helped him, seeing the struggle. God his leg hurt a lot. He winced as he stood.

“You should go to an actual hospital with that.” Jim mumbled. Seeing the confusion on Batman’s face, he continued. “Oh no, we’re not in a hospital now, we’re in the GCPD infirmary wing. No doubt they’d try to take your mask off there, but here, I’ve got all the authority.” He smiled, but got serious quickly. “Seriously go to a hospital or something, whoever tried helping you with that did more harm than good.” Somehow it didn’t surprise him that Scarecrow hurt him further. “They really had no idea what they were doing. Apparently-” Gordon’s face turned a bit greenish.”-they dug around in your leg with a… needle. Probably looking for the bullet because it was removed, which was a really bad idea, ‘cause that just caused way more bleeding- Just. Go to a hospital. Please.” He stopped himself from talking too much in detail about Scarecrow’s horrendous, gory attempt at first aid for his own sake, because he was becoming pale as a wall. “But when you do get out of the hospital, you have to tell me about everything that happened. You know that.” 

“Gordon.” He said after being helped to walk to the door "Thank you.” Gordon stopped by the door and watched Batman limp away in silence.

When Batman got out the front door of the GCPD headquarters, the bright sunlight nearly blinded him. The sun was back and he was grateful to be alive. He’d think about vengeance and everything he hadn’t yet figured out later. He didn’t mind the pain in his leg or the blinding sunlight, because for now he was just happy to still be around to experience it all.

Because the sun will always come back, but it’s up to you to decide whether that’s a comfort or hindrance.

Chapter Text

It didn't take Bruce too long to recover from the nasty wound he acquired thanks to Falcone's snipers and the scarecrow. Usually he would've just pushed himself to get back to work despite his body's and Alfred's protests, but for once, he didn't want to go back. He didn't want to try his limits. He didn't want to keep fighting. 

He didn't want the wounds to heal. But because he didn't put strain on them, they healed faster.

After weeks, he went back, but even though he returned, his will to continue didn't. 

"No offense, but I was glad you weren't around." Gordon told him the first time he saw him after his return. Of course he meant it in the good way, and he was just happy that batman was taking care of himself. "Though I was a bit worried you died or something." He'd muttered with that cigarette in his mouth.

For the next few months, Bruce focused more and more on Wayne enterprises, as some crimes couldn't be stopped simply with violence. Like the corruption in his very own company. Seeing the work environment Lucius Fox had was eye opening, and well, owning the whole place gave him a lot of power to change stuff. 

Every now and then he'd fail with work, one or the other, or he'd remember that terrible night, that near death experience, and in those times he'd find himself staring at his phone screen, finger hovering above the call button to Dr Cranes number. But he always stopped himself, or was stopped by a twinge of fear and shame whenever he'd finally make the decision to just click the damn button.

He knew what he had to do. He just couldn't.

Bruce was afraid. So so afraid.

All of those confusing feelings were way out of control. And he was afraid of not having control.

However, being the man he was, there was still plenty in his control. Like billions of dollars. And his public image (somewhat. Sometimes a particularly intriguing and spicy piece of gossip would escape even his control.)

So he took the only logical step and made an entire new wing in W.E. to help fight pollution. Obviously.

Why? 

If you were the famous Vicky Vale of the Gotham Gazette, (or any other reporter from any other news source), he would say something like:

"Well miss Vale, (or any other reporter) take a look around you! I recently did and was shocked by what I saw. Trash on the streets, trash in the water, hell even trash in the air!" He'd go on about how he returned from the beautiful Bahamas (or some other nice place where rich people spend their vacation) and in comparison to there, Gotham is awfully terribly disgusting. People would applaud him for not being as ignorant as he could be. Easy peasy.

But if doctor Crane asked, he'd tell the truth. He'd admit he wasn't on the Bahama islands or in Barbados or any other place on the letter B. He'd bring up his parents and how when his whole life was shattered right before him, his young brain could barely process what had happened, and to see what his mother and father saw, he looked up, where they were looking with their newly lifeless eyes, and there - there were stars looking back at them - him. Cold and white, just like his mother's new pearls.

But then when it was his turn to (nearly) die, when he lay on his back, in a damp alley between narrow buildings, they weren't there anymore- the stars, that is. Just the grey smog hanging above Gotham City, combined with the light pollution, blocking the way to the little glimpse of beauty of the cosmos one could get from down there.

Nobody could argue that Gotham City didn't get hundreds times worse when the Waynes died. And with the city, the quality of... Well. Everything. Life, water, education, the economy, the air. Everything. It wasn't just Bruce who their death took a massive toll on. He however could leave anytime he wanted. To go fight petty criminals in prisons half the world away, or join some league of ninjas just to blow the whole thing up. Not everybody had that luxury of choice. And for them, he had to change things. For them he fought criminals at night and even more criminals in business suits during the day.

He couldn't let the Gotham of his time be the worst one. He couldn't let his city fall out of his grasp and become an unrecognisable hellhole.

But despite his power, Bruce was afraid. So so afraid.

He'd wake up from dreams of abstract concepts and colours with a cold sweat and a feeling of dread. Something was just right out of his grasp. On the peripheral of his vision, of his understanding. Under the tip of his finger, he just couldn't move. 

Something he was afraid of.

Or afraid to understand.

There was something he couldn't control. So he did the most of what he could and distracted himself with all the new projects that he created and could control.

The project was mainly managed by Lucius. Bruce trusted him to take proper care of it. Most of the sections had management and workers so only one thing was missing. The public image. Of course he was going to throw a charity ball against pollution. Show that he was not the only elite who cared. Although to say those people cared about their investments would be a big overstatement. But whatever, as long as they supported the idea financially and optically. 

"Perhaps you shouldn't go to the event alone." Alfred said, knocking Bruce out of his thoughts. 

"Huh?" Bruce turned his head to look at Alfred who was dusting an antique bookshelf, full of his father's medical books.

"I was saying, that surely there are a lot of women who would love to accompany you to the ball." Bruce smiled at him. Right. Women. Of course he would be expected to come to a social event with at least two beautiful women at his side. He was billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne after everything. Why didn't he think of that earlier? What would he do without Alfred?- He thought, and felt relief that Alfred wasn't some mind reader because Bruce wouldn't see the end of it.

"Hm." Was all bruce responded with a rise of his eyebrows, though - as in 'i'll consider it'. But that wasn't all from Alfred as he signalled toward the landline, and asked:

"Will you call her, or shall I?" Bruce's brain short circuited.

"Who?" He furrowed his eyebrows, not quite following.

"So then I shall." Alfred reached toward the phone. Bruce hopped off the chair he was seated on, upon realising who he was on about.

"No, no, I'll ask her in person." It was Rachel, of course. There wasn't a single other woman who Alfred pushed Bruce about quite as Rachel Dawes. 

"Very well, master Bruce." The butler said, clearly satisfied with the outcome. He watched with a smug expression as Bruce left the room.

Bruce 'miraculously' ran into her after looker for her in the courthouse for at least a quarter. 

"Rachel! Hey! What a coincidence." He cringed internally at his own choice of words. She looked stressed out and he realised this probably was not a good time.

"Bruce." She stared up at him with those sad eyes, and he started feeling guilty, as he remembered the last time they spoke. "It's been a while. What are you doing here?"

Right. They were in a courthouse. She was probably thinking he got caught and put to trial for being Batman. Or actually he had no what she was thinking. Just that he showed up one day in the courthouse she worked in.

"Yeah it has." It had indeed been quite a few months since they had that lunch and he had that... breakdown? It wasn't like he was avoiding her. Well, maybe it was. Perhaps it was the shame the thought of her made him feel. "I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you for so long."

"It's your life, Bruce." She shrugged. He felt stupid.

"I just- no, really Rachel I am sorry." She was such a good person and he felt terrible with how he acted. "I treated you awfully and I shouldn't have because you were just trying to help me- and I'm so sorry I took it out on you."

"I see. And you are here because-?" She lifted an eyebrow at him. Right. He was here for a reason and she knew it.

"I wanted to invite you to my charity ball." Bruce said meekly. Rachel finally smiled. Just a bit. But she did. 

"How have you been, Bruce?" She asked. The question hit him like a truck.

And since this wasn't Vicky Vale who he'd have an entire speech made up and ready for, to keep his optics up, or Dr Crane who he'd pour his hear out without a moment's hesitation if he ever got the chance, he was speechless. He caught himself not speaking a few moments too long. He could usually craft something clever to say in his mind, but now, it was silent, even as he desperately urged it to think.

"I... I've been-" bad? fighting for my life? working? struggling? afraid? so damn afraid? "-trying."

"That's good. I'm always happy to see you." She paused and looked up at a clock on the wall. "I've got to get back to work. Text me the details. See you then?" Bruce watched in disbelief as she walked away with a smile. 

He was not expecting her to agree to come. After everything he put her through. Or maybe his mind was overreacting and he hadn't been as bad to her as he thought. It was getting hard to tell anything with all the emotions and thoughts and feelings he was having nowadays.

Chapter Text

"We'll be at your ball, Mr Wayne" Gordon said to the billionaire, whilst looking at a particularly weird ornament in his study. Pfft. Modern art. -He thought. Though, it was likely worth more than a years rent of his apartment. "Me and a squad of officers."

"That's nice. I should add your names to the list or the bouncer won't let you in." 

"I don't- very funny. I meant, were going to be patrolling the event." The ornament thingy was covered in yellow zigzags like lightning bolts and he was starting to look for meaning in the piece. "You've made yourself a lot of enemies with all the laying off your long term employees." 

"I have the right to fire corrupt workers. Honestly you should try it too." He heard the man say angrily, from behind his mahogany desk. Jim turned around swiftly.

"Don't tell me how to do my job." He chidied Wayne, and went back to interpreting the modern art piece. But he knew Bruce was right about the cops, and Bruce knew that he was right about having countless enemies. Neither of them admitted the other was right.

A black spot on the piece reminded him of a bat. He really had to stop relying on Batman to always be there for him, he was man of flesh and bone like every other. Gordon was better not to go dependent on him, although it was nice to know that there was at least one person he could trust. Absurd! Wasn't it? That he could trust a masked vigilante he didn't know the identity of better than his colleagues, he had worked with for years, who he knew, knew their faces, their names, even their families. Just as absurd as the weird bulb he'd been interpreting for a while now.

"What is this?" He asked finally, about the art piece.

Bruce got up from his desk and approached him, from his left. He stared at it equally attentively. 

"It's a Christmas decoration I made for my father when I was seven."

"Oh."

The ornament suddenly became tenfold as priceless to Jim, as any modern art or classic art could ever be. It definitely had been too, to Thomas Wayne. 

Some fatherly instinct of his forced him to pat Bruce on the shoulder. He remembered that small terrified child shaking in his office. He remembered thinking 'he looks so cold', and putting his huge coat on the boys shoulders. Now Bruce probably wouldn't even fit in it, but then, he was so small against the coat. The coat and the trauma and the entire world collapsing in on him.

"We'll be there, son."

The day of the charity Bruce was feeling great. Better than he had in a while. He had one of his nicest tuxedos on, his hair was slicked back with hair gel and he was ready to raise some funds.

Alfred picked up Rachel from her home and brought her to the manor. She looked beautiful. Her hair was up in a complicated bun and she was wearing an elegant black dress covered in pinkish floral patterns along with simple black Mary Jane shoes. She smiled at him as she left the car, and he smiled back. It felt like a dream.

The press were quick to arrive. The guests were too. It was maybe the first event in Wayne Manor after about twenty years. 

"I forgot how beautiful this place is." An older guest commented. "It hasn't changed much since your mother was the one organising such balls." Another said, squinting at Bruce looking for the resemblance to her in his face. "You're just like her. You bring attention to the important things." It was nice. Even if they were sucking up, it was nice. 

Bruce was quick to disregard the presses questions and continue mingling with guests with a simple: "I'll be answering questions after the speech."

When he felt the time was right for the speech, he hit his small spoon against his empty champagne glass. The music and chattering quieted down.

"Can you see the stars in the night sky? Can you see any marine life in the harbour? What do you see on the streets? Garbage. It's all garbage. There's garbage on land, in the air and in the water." Countless eyes stared at him from around. He had a problem keeping eye contact recently. Although had it begun recently or had he just realised not long ago, that staring into another's eyes and them staring back made him feel like a deer in headlights. It made him awfully uncomfortable and sometimes paralyzed with fear. It wasn't as bad as when he had his cowl and batsuit on and knew the other person was more vulnerable than he was.

Lights kept flashing from the presses cameras."We have to do better! Gotham is turning into a wasteland and it's in our power to say no to that. We can still change things for ourselves and our children. We still have hope." He recognised Gordon by his familiar moustache and glasses from the corner of his eye. There was a red headed woman dressed in green, glaring at him, her arms crossed. Vicky Vale was standing close, holding her recorder out towards him. Rachel was sitting beside him, her chair turned towards him. There were quite a few people he didn't recognise, who he assumed were scientists. "Donate now to set your stance against pollution, or do it later and for now-" He paused for anticipation."-Just enjoy the ball."

 Many claps followed.

Instantly after, many people approached him. Rachel, Vicky, other reporters, the red haired woman, a tall man, a short man, you get it. A lot of people.

They all bombarded him with questions, and doing so, got nowhere.

"One at a time, one at a time!" Bruce shouted over them. They silenced down. "You first." He pointed at the red head. She was wearing a very green dress. A deep green. Less like grass and more like a fir tree. 

"I have so many questions but I see your too busy for them all."

"I'm afraid so miss. You are-?"

"It's doctor, Isley." The beautiful woman in STEM said. Although as far as Bruce was concerned, every woman was beautiful. He'd have to have something deeply wrong with his brain to ever call one ugly.

"Doctor." He tasted the word in his mouth. It tasted like copper. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I must ask; where is all this money going?" She asked with a stern look on her face. Her voice was smooth but almost mean.

He told her the numbers. Where how much would go. Twenty five to the anti pollution wing of his foundation, another twenty five to some tree planting thingy and the last fifty to various ecological organisations from Gotham.

"Into your own pocket? You know planting trees won't stop every problem? How do you know these organisations are trustworthy?"

"Please. One question at a time."

"Right. One more question. Who's in charge of the botanical ecology part?"

"Hmm.." He pretended he didn't know them all by heart, as he did a lot of the research himself. "I believe that would be Dr Woodrue." Satisfied with the answers, Dr Isley left him alone.

Now it was Vicky Vales turn. He dutifully answered all the question she crafted for him. It was their little game. She asked the most outrageous questions and he gave perfect, clever answers. She was the most trustworthy and reliable of the journalists so he always was answering her questions of all the presses. Then it was someone else's turn. And then someone else's. As if this was a Q&A and not a fundraiser. 

He and Rachel hadn't had much of a chance to talk properly earlier. So they did now.

"And how have you been, Rachel?" He asked her.

"Oh you know. Doing this and that. I mean-" she shook her head "I'm still prosecuting but as a little side thing I've started knitting." She flushed. "that probably sounds stupid to you, with all that you do." She waved her hand for emphasis. 

Knitting-such a peaceful thing to do. A great contrast to his nightly activities.

"No, that sounds nice."

"It-it is." She smiled brightly, and took a sip of the exquisite champagne. She was a great pacifist. She was the one who made him realise the error in his ways. "How has.." she cleared her breath and whispered ".. therapy been?"

"I haven't been back."

"No? I thought you were planing on going again." Right. He did say he'd have another appointment.

"I was. I just-" he paused to think. Why exactly hadn't he been back? He hadn't exactly been busy. Was it the fear of what therapy made him feel or the fear of his therapist? Or what he made him feel... "-couldn't bring myself to go back." I really should have gone back.- he thought, and took another sip of the bubbly drink.

"Perhaps that's for the better." She muttered. She didn't like Dr Crane. She was quite clear about that.

"You think so?"

"I mean, you seem to be doing well." Do I really? "Look at all this, you're working hard for good goals." He was, wasn't he? So why did he still feel so afraid? He took another sip of his drink and wondered if he felt so anxious just a few minutes ago. There was no way he felt like this earlier. He was nervous talking to his friend right now, so how did he answer the presses questions so easily? Something was wrong.

Something was definitely wrong. 

Everyone was looking at him, looking right through him. He was see-throught and everything that was inside him was seen from the outside. He was a vessel made of glass and inside were rabid bats desperately trying to get out, hitting the glass and the music wasn't playing so you could hear the things hitting the glass with the primal aggression that came from being caged and-

"Bruce?" Rachel broke through the sounds of the chirping bats, and they seemed to disappear.

"Huh?" He looked at her but felt like he was seeing this all from afar, like he was watching a video of this on the batcomputer. His voice didn't even feel his.

"You alright?" Her forehead was all damp from sweat. Yes it was awfully hot in there, wasn't it?

"Yeah yeah, I just need some fresh air." He turned on his heel in a way that almost made himself nauseous, and started marching towards the door in the study that lead outside. He turned around to see her still standing there, grasping her mostly full (or not quite empty) glass with some weird look on her face. Something akin to shocked understanding. "You coming?"

She muttered something and hurried after him.

The air was cold, it was a very windy night. If not the loud, loud event, the manor would be filled with mysterious creaks and groans. The clouds moved fast and tree branches rustled violently. It was unpleasant, standing in the cold wind, but he needed the oxygen.

"Was it something I said?" Rachel asked.

Bruce felt that his brain was getting smaller recently with all the 'Huh?'s he was huhing so he settled on: "What do you mean?" 

Rachel looked away timidly. 

"You seemed a bit out of it." Yeah, that's because he was see-through and everybody who wanted or didn't want saw everything he was hiding? Duh? "Is it because I mentioned.. therapy?"

"..."

"Is it something to do with.. you know. Crane?" His blood stopped moving in his veins for the second that she said his name and continued like nothing happened when it was over.

"When did you become a detective, Rachel?" He laughed, deflecting. 

"It is, isn't it?" She smiled at him like the cat who got the cream. Why was she smiling, exactly? "Feelings, huh?"

"Yeah, feelings...?" He felt like he missed out on something big. "Feelings are why people go to therapy, yes. Why are you laughing?"

"I'm cold, let's go inside." Was all she said after she stopped giggling, and left Bruce confused, in the cold.

"You have feelings for the doctor, don't you?" Her champagne was lost somewhere, probably outside and forgotten by her. Although she drank but two sips, she felt plenty drunk trying to explain Bruce's own emotions to him.

"Feelings. Sure." The cold combined with the alcohol gave him a headache. He rubbed his forehead as he tried to answer Rachel's questions.

"Tell me; what type of feelings?"

"The um, negative kind, I think." The bats banged against their container. "He terrifies me."

"But in the good way or the bad way?" These questions were getting complicated.

"The..." He realised there was no one answer. No one answer to any question ever. Everything was complicated as hell. Even the things that seemed simple. "I don't know. Let's talk about you."

 He could feel the disappointment emanating from her, but still, she talked about some new attorney with a coin and about her knitting and how she accidentally knitted a 3 metre scarf and he felt the bats calm down and the glass turn back into proper skin and his mind return to him. She talked about how she missed going to brunch with him, and that they should do it again, Bruce agreed. She spoke passionately about cases she had and criminals she put away and innocent people she helped. He smiled as he thought about all the work she did and how incredibly humble she was. She could put away the biggest crime lord and not feel the need for any praise or publicity. He felt at peace not being the centre of attention for a moment. She did mention though that her friends all read the tabloids he was in and would recount all of his crazy escapades to her. He cringed internally at the memory of just a few of the many stupid things he did to keep his optics as the billionaire playboy. 

Time slipped by so fast untill it stopped the very second he caught sight of a face that froze the blood in his body.

"What- what is he doing here?" Rachel asked through her teeth as she followed his eyes that were frozen in place.

"I could swear he wasn't invited..." He replied baffled. Well at least he knew he wasn't dreaming the man up again(maybe?). "I don't... I'm sure he wasn't." He whispered. The man in question might have noticed them as he was smiling venomously and approaching- yeah, he definitely noticed them. Neither Bruce or Rachel seemed as happy as he seemed to be to talk with him. 

"Great. He's coming here." Rachel said through her fake smile.

When he finally got close to them, Bruce noticed a fresh looking black eye under those glasses. 

"Crane." Rachel stated.

"Doctor." Bruce greeted.

"Ms Dawes." He looked at her with what looked like professional respect. "Mr Wayne." He looked at him with the weight of all Bruce's secrets and something more. He felt something in the depths of his stomachs and on the back of his neck with made him want to rub it to ease the feeling, but he didn't. "I didn't expect to see you here." He said to Rachel.

"Well, I was invited." She responded with some backhanded implications. "And neither did I expect to see, you." Nor did Bruce.

"Hm." He hummed. Seeing Bruce and Rachel together seemed to puzzle him, and not that it was even any of his business, Bruce clarified:

"Me and Rachel go way back." He had no idea why he said it. Perhaps it was the need to tell the doctor everything about him, that he felt he owed him for some reason and- oh god. The last time he was supposed to meet him, he didn't go to the therapy session- oh wow he forgot all about that and was now really embarrassed, standing in front of the man he shamelessly ghosted. (Well not shamelessly as he was feeling plenty shame right now). There was no way Dr Crane was going to mention it now due to patient confidentiality and whatnot but still. He had to say something right now because the guilt was eating him from the inside and those diamond eyes were piercing his. "Like way back. To childhood."

"Really?" He felt Rachel stare daggers at him. But something flickered in Dr Crane's eyes and Bruce could nearly see the cogs in his head turning, connecting that these two random people he knew (well a patient who was also a celebrity and a coworker who didn't really like him) were actually childhood friends. "It's a small world." He said, amused, looking back and forth between them. Bruce noticed the man's pupils were quite dilated even though the venue wasn't that brightly lit.

Rachel cleared her voice. "By the way... what happened to you?" She gestured at Crane's messed up face.

He smacked his toung and nonchalantly replied. "I got assaulted in the kitchen."

‌"You got assaulted?!" Bruce shouted out.

"Why were you in the kitchen..?" Rachel added as an afterthought.

"Yeah and I-" He swayed a little. "-I think I got poisoned too."

"Wha-" before Bruce could even finish his query, the doctor tipped forward and fell with the loss of consciousness. Bruce reacted quickly and grabbed the man but his shoulders so he would not fall on the floor. All eyes turned towards the three of them, as Rachel screamed.

Chapter Text

Gordon blamed himself. An ambulance arrived very quickly. (He himself called, so of course it did). But how could a whole squad of policemen not prevent something like this? Yikes. He was embarrassed to say the least. What if that guy got stabbed or shot instead? Honestly, he didn't know if that wouldn't have been better since he didn't even know what the man got poisoned with, let alone the side effects (besides for fainting). But that was more or less (more) the end of the ball. Everybody got pretty paranoid, Jim too. He wasn't sure if the chill he felt in his fingers was a draft from an opened window or a tingle of shame from whatever that happened. He even saw Bruce Wayne biting his nails. Jim hoped the boy had nothing to hide. He was pretty fond of him.

Bruce refused to make statements about the event. "No comment." Was all he responded to the questions from Vicki and others. He wondered distantly, with a sprinkle of irony, whether they would quote him on the no comment. Who cares anymore?-He thought, staring into the floor as a hand rubbed his arm up and down in a pretty irritating but also grounding pattern. He felt like those rubs were going to scrub all the skin from his arm until there was only muscle and bone left of it. Weird thought, but he had rather not have the alternate thoughts like what the fuck just happened.

So he focused on 5 things he could see 4 things he could feel or smell or taste or whatever bullshit his primary school counsellor told him to do when he felt sad or whatever it was he felt after his parents' death. Yes, because seeing and feeling would change the fact that his parents were forever gone and never coming back. His brain was too young to fully comprehend the concept of forever and infinity, but somehow he was supposed to just accept that that was how long he wouldn't get a warm kiss on the cheek from his mom or a hug from his tired dad, who'd just returned from a long day at the hospital. And that that hand on his shoulder was getting really annoying, it kept rubbing in the same place, and it was beginning to hurt. And he realised he was gnawing on his middle finger. Not on the nail, but the skin around his nail. His mother would've tutted disapprovingly. He imagined her doing so, and he stopped instantly, for they - Bruce and Rachel (the person rubbing painful circles on his arm in an attempt to comfort him)- were in his father's study. His father always wanted him to respect and listen to his mother. He always did. Even now, after they were both long gone.

He distantly looked at his shaking hand. His right hand's middle finger was covered in blood from biting the skin off. Yuck. He wiped it against his elegant blue trousers and hoped Alfred knew how to clean blood from formal clothing. Although why hope? He knew Alfred could do that. The blood didn't stop with that. It kept coming, so he put his hand into his pocket so no one would notice.

"Mr Wayne." Gordon's rough voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He took a deep breath and turned around to face the man.

He answered all the policeman's questions truthfully. And the truth was that he had no clue what happened. Most of his answers were 'I don't know' or 'I'm not sure', or 'I'd have to check' when asked if Dr Crane was invited or on the staff list. He did know who the man was, though, and he told Gordon - Dr Crane, a psychologist. When asked where he knew him from, he told Gordon it was none of his business in the most mannerful way he could. I'm sorry, but that's personal information or something along those lines. Gordon had a look on his face that said: well duh, we're asking for personal information. But he didn't push.

Anyway the ball was over. Bruce wondered why, why something like this had to happen when he was trying to do the right thing for once. He stared out onto the road where an ambulance rushed away half an hour earlier, as the police vans drove away. Hell. Why not burn the manor down and get all the first responders involved in what was supposed to be a peaceful charity ball.

All this time, Rachel hadn't left his side all this time, and he felt so truly indebted to her. He turned around and sat by the long table, covered with every food imaginable. All the other chairs were empty. He took a grape from a colourful fruit platter. Rachel sighed from where she'd just sat next to him, and looked with distaste at a half drank glass and half-eaten meal that lay in front of her. He glanced at her with tired eyes. She took a slice of watermelon from the same fruit platter.

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" He asked her. They both knew he didn't mean it in the 'playboy' way, but in the 'desperate need of support and companionship' way. Well he had Alfred of course, but he wasn't sure he'd understand quite like Rachel did. He himself didn't understand what exactly there even was to understand. Maybe it was the mutual understanding of having met the doctor and knowing him. There was something about him. Something so alluring but terrifying. And Bruce was afraid of what he'd find in the man if he looked closer. What was hidden under the thin veil of psychologist or psychiatrist or therapist or whatever the doctor was. Alfred never met him. He wouldn't get it.

"That cham-pagne" Rachel blurted out drunkenly. "Was dis-gusting! Made me feel sick."

"Yeah." Bruce quietly agreed. They were sitting on the balcony of a guest bedroom that Rachel was staying in, drinking their (mostly Bruce's) worried away with the wine they found in the mini fridge. She passed him back the bottle, and he took a generous chug.

"Maybe there was something in it, and that's why..." She stopped the sentence. "I dunno. Arsenic." Bruce snorted.

"We'd all be dead then." He said.

"Or some other poison." She did know other poison names from all that work in the court, but it was just quite had to recall them when drunk.

"Maybe the champagne just tasted bad." He mused.

"And maybe Crane just needed some fresh air..." She said after taking a long sip. There was no more wine left, she noticed, so she put the empty bottle on the table instead of passing it back to her friend.

"He said he was poisoned." He reminded her.

"Well. He's a damn liar." She said, looking straight into Bruce's eyes. He just laughed at that and didn't try to defend Crane. She had more experience with the man, and for some reason the thought of the doctor lying under oath didn't seem all that appalling. God, he hoped he had lied. That the carbon dioxide got to his brain and he just blurted out some nonsense before passing out, and that he'd be fine.

Soon later, they made the wise choice to end the night there and go their separate ways (as in to different bedrooms). Batman wasn't going out this night. The cops would have to do their own jobs for a night.

Morning came way too fast. (Well, after a messed up nightmare consisting of abstract concepts and shapes and psychological torture that consisted of words he was told on an icy mountain, half the word away. But that wasn't new).

"Wakey, wakey master Bruce." He heard the British man's voice and the sound of curtains being pulled, and then he felt the blinding sun on his half opened eyes, which caused him to quickly close them again. He groaned. "Miss Dawes is waiting for you downstairs." That brought a reaction out of him. He instantly sat up, or at least he tried to because halfway through the action he got a killer pain in the head which reminded him of last evening. Or rather night, since it was well past 2 when they went to bed. (How was Rachel already up?). He tumbled out of bed uncomfortably and realised that he went to bed in his clothes. Well halfway in his clothes as his suit jacket and tie were off, and his shirt was half unbuttoned, but his suit pants were still fully on. He must've fallen asleep when trying to unbutton his shirt.

He got dressed into something more comfortable than what he slept in and headed downstairs. Rachel was sitting by the table, picking at the scrambled eggs Alfred made her. She didn't look all that fresh, either. She was clearly hungover too.

"You're going to hate this idea, but-" Bruce began. She glared daggers at him.

Chapter Text

And she did indeed hate the idea. But she still reluctantly agreed.

The idea in question was a visit to Dr Crane in the hospital. When he thought about it, he had no idea why she agreed, but he didn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

They took some less flashy car after Bruce figured out which hospital it was. (He had methods). Rachel sat all grumpy and annoyed in the passenger seat. Visiting a more disliked colleague in the hospital, while having a killer hangover, clearly did not bring her joy.

"Did I ever tell you about how he got Victor Zsasz out of a prison sentence? Just straight to Arkham." She said, looking at him all annoyed.

"Who?" He asked.

"Crane." She answered, like he was an idiot.

"I know that, but Victor who?"

"Victor Zsasz, or Mr Zsasz. A serial killer who took jobs from Falcone." The mob bosses name filled him with disgust. He remembered how the man threatened him all those years ago and how his snipers recently shot him in the leg. And those boys... To say that he hated Carmine Falcone would be an understatement. "He, uh, cut a tally mark in his skin for every kill."

"Ohh." Bruce had heard about him, but that was it. If he'd met Zsasz, he would surely have never forgotten about him. "I mean-" he began. He didn't want to be annoying, but he just couldn't help it. "-Not many normal people cut tally marks on themselves." He didn't look at Rachel, he was focused on the road.

"Anyone who works for Falcone should go to prison." She replied after a while of just staring at him. Bruce thought about those boys who were likely just stuck in a bad situation and how it ended for them. He swallowed.

"Agree to disagree."

They had a quick stop for coffee and flowers. Bruce got a bouquet of roses and decorative sunflowers. Rachel, on the other hand, picked up a bouquet of chrysanthemums, to which the flower lady pointed out that those were funeral flowers, and asked if they were going to one. She quickly put them back down, to not jinx it, and instead got some boring orange tulips.

He got a card to go with them, which made Rachel panic and overthink a bit, since she didn't know whether to also get one. And if so, who to sign it from. Herself? That would be a little weird and awfully personal. The courthouse? No, she alone was getting the flowers. She ultimately decided on a get well soon card without signing it at all.

Rachel complained the whole way.
"This is weird." "I'm not sure about this." "I don't even like this guy; no, I actively dislike him." "Why did I agree to this." "Will I have to talk to him?"

Bruce never saw her this nervous. She was usually calm, like a rock or butterfly or whatever.

"Are you alright?" He asked her, and her expression changed from annoyed to mocking to honest real fast, as she realised he really cared.

"Yeah, I've just been really jumpy since yesterday. I mean. Seeing him faint wasn't something I expected." He knew what she felt. He understood her. Seeing someone she knew get hurt shocked her and no, she didn't like Crane, but she knew him. And there is no way to be completely unaffected by someone you know being hurt. No matter how hard you want to. And complete isolation is not the way. He knew far too well.

They got to Gotham General a bit past 8 AM. Bruce cleared his voice as they neared reception.

"Yeah?" The receptionist asked, not bothering to look up from the screen she was playing solitaire on.

"We're visiting Jonathan Crane." Bruce said. She clicked out of solitaire and onto patient files.

"You family?"

"No, we're..." He looked at Rachel, who just looked back at him, and shrugged. "…friends."

"Shame, he doesn't have any emergency contacts, we were hoping to find his next of kin. You know if he has one?" Bruce looked at Rachel again. He really shouldn't have said they were friends when he knew so little about the man.

"No, I, I don't know." He felt a little dumb. Did Dr Crane have family? He had no clue.

"Alright, but he needs an-" She began. "Are you willing to be the emergency contact?" He licked his lips, since his mouth went dry all of a sudden.

"Sure." He answered. What had he gotten himself into?- he wondered right after saying the word. He could feel Rachel's eyes on the back of his head and the question: 'what the fuck, Bruce?'

"Name?" The receptionist asked, pen ready on paper.

"Bruce Wayne." He replied with a smile, leaning on the counter in true playboy fashion, and she finally looked up.

"Listen, Bruce, I don't think I can do this." Rachel said to him, as they were just a few doors away from Crane. They stopped walking. Bruce pondered. He knew what she felt all too well. The horrible, unexplained anxiety building up in your gut like anticipation, but so much worse. The irrational sense of dread, that feels like it will kill you if you don't listen to it.

"I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do, Rachel." She sighed, with relief, probably. He told her to wait outside the hospital and took her flowers.

Opening the door with flowers in both hand was a bit tricky, but he was literally Batman, so he managed.

Crane was asleep, and honestly, Bruce felt a weight lifted off him since he didn't know what he would say to the man were he awake. He put the flowers down on the bedside table, and just stood there awkwardly. Then he busied himself with opening the blinds, since they were closed. And then he stood at the foot of the cot awkwardly, again. Crane's face was so calm, expressionless even. Like a ghost or a blank piece of paper. It gave nothing away. No secrets the man was no doubts full of.

"Dr Crane?" He said, checking if the man was actually asleep.

Jonathan awoke to someone speaking to him, and before his mind fully caught up with him, and told him who it was, that was speaking, he was already annoyed.

"Oh look, ya got flowers. How cute is that?" A Brooklyn accent said, above him. He opened his eyes to see that potato face moving his lips.
Falcone. "I wonder who from? Mommy?" He asked mockingly and turned the card. Jonathan knew without having to check that those flowers were definitely not from mommy. Falcone's face was instantly painted with surprise. "Bruce Wayne?! You're in rich boy's pocket after I literally paid you to terrorise him?!"

Crane didn't reply. He really had nothing to say and was a bit worried what would come out of his mouth if he'd open it.

"You really owe me now."

"I don't owe you anything. Especially not after you tried to kill me." Jonathan accused him.

"Whoa" Falcone put his hands up as if he was getting arrested. "I did no such thing."

"You sent snipers to a deal." He continued with the accusation. His throat was sore, and he felt wickedly nauseous and weak, and here he was, arguing with Falcone.

"They were there just in case, and guess what? You had batman on your ass. So good, I did send em there."

"Do you sent snipers to every deal your people do?" Jonathan asked. He wondered if it was just him getting special treatment and if he should be flattered.

"No. Only to the ones with freaks." He smiled at Crane from above. Always so big and mighty. The Roman. What an egocentric bastard. "Hey doc, if ya hate me so damn much, why do you continue doing business with me?" Jonathan looked away. He really didn't need to be kicked when he was already down. "Oh! That's right. I know about your little experiments, and I have all the power over what goes on down there." He exclaimed, condescendingly. Jonathan imagined dosing him with a concentrated dose of his toxin, to keep his calm. "So next time ya do your thing, remember who exactly allows it." He felt Falcone's spit particles hit his face. He gritted his teeth and tried not to tell him how much despised and wanted to kill him because at the end of the day he was right. And though he was stuck in a cycle that made him reliant on Falcone, he did have his own gain.