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Jon had been having… strange dreams, as of late. Though, perhaps nightmares was a better word. On the nights he deigned to fall asleep, he dreamed of violence, of lashing out, of beating and bruising. His victim was always a redheaded man. He wondered what that said about his subconscious.
Though he would never say “I love you”, he did care deeply for Edward. He did a lot for Jon, both physically and emotionally. God only knew that Jon had never been good at taking care of himself, but Edward kept him on a much healthier routine. Edward was a fantastic cook, and Jon had told him that, more than once, only to watch Edward flush and drop his head. He hadn’t received many compliments - genuine ones, at least - and thus was both desperate for any kind of validation and didn’t know how to handle it when offered. So, Jon had made it his mission to tell Edward just how much he was valued.
And he was. Edward knew almost all there was to know about a wide variety of topics and was more than willing to share that information, but he could also be an excellent listener. The two had spent many hours debating the pros and cons of anything that came to mind. He was, truly and honestly, the best partner Jon had ever had. And that was why his dreams were so concerning.
Edward had dismissed them, when Jon had brought it up. Jon had asked if his nightmares were keeping Edward awake - he was a light sleeper, after all - but Edward had shaken his head. He’d informed Jon that there was no need to worry, that he was probably just overthinking things, and asked if Jon would be interested in taking any medication to help him sleep. Jon himself wouldn’t have refused, but the Scarecrow had practically been screaming the opposite. Politely, he had turned Edward’s offer down, and Edward had shrugged and turned back to his laptop.
Last night’s dream, however, had shaken him in a way that none of the previous had. In this one, he’d injected his victim with toxin, watched him flinch away. He’d curled up in the corner, silent tears streaming down his face, begging Jon not to hurt him. Jon had only watched, a smile growing ever-larger on his face.
He’d awoken in a cold sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs and his pillow somehow on the floor. Jon glanced at the other side of the bed to find it neatly made, his partner nowhere to be seen. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, then swiped his glasses off his nightstand. The smell of something edible wafted from the warehouse’s kitchen, and Jon shuffled out, accepting the cup of tea and plate of food Edward offered as he sat down at the counter across from him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled into the cup, trying to adjust to being awake as well as recovering from his nightmare.
“Sorry the eggs are a little overdone,” Edward admitted. He rubbed at his eyes, shooting Jon a tired smile. “I didn’t get as much sleep as I would have liked last night.”
“Did I keep you up?”
Edward waved him off. “It was nothing you did.”
Idly, Jon wondered if the lack of sleep was really all that bothering him. Edward seemed jittery in a way he rarely did, the nervous energy leading to him tapping out an irregular pattern on his coffee mug. Morse code, most likely, meaning something was really wrong, and while Edward didn’t want to say anything, his compulsions would tease out the truth.
It really was a shame Jon didn’t know morse code.
Edward caught Jon staring and set his mug down on the counter, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He seemed to have decided against the full suit today, just wearing slacks, a button up, a vest, and a tie. The sleeves were rolled up to midway up his forearms, revealing the old scars that criss-crossed up his arms.
“What are you working on today?” Jon asked, as much to break the uncomfortable silence as out of actual interest.
Edward perked up, just a little, and began to ramble about his latest plan to bring Gotham City to its knees. Still, it was clear his focus wasn’t all there. Jon picked his way through the eggs on his plate, fork scraping against the ceramic, but when he set his tea down just a little too hard, Edward fought to repress a flinch.
“Are you alright?” Jon asked, even though he clearly wasn’t. He’d rather Edward be honest with him than have to pry.
“Fine, I’m-” Edward took a shaky breath that was probably not meant to be that way. “I’m fine.”
Fear toxin. This was how Edward had behaved after he’d been subjected to the substance, anxious and on edge and reactive to anything Jon did. He must have been exposed, but how? He knew the traps around the warehouse just as well as Jon did, so it couldn’t be that, and even if it had been, Jon had been here. He knew where the antidote was, and he assumed Edward wasn’t too prideful to ask for help, so then how…?
The answer struck him when his eyes fell on his desk. For the last few days, Jon had been working on a new strain of his fear toxin, hoping to create a compound with faster-acting effects. As of last night, there had been eight vials. Now, there were only seven. He let his gaze drift over to Edward, watching as he tried and failed to hide the fact that he was curling in on himself.
Had Edward swiped a vial and accidentally exposed himself in the process? Possibly, but it seemed out of character for him. The two of them mutually regarded the other’s projects as “off limits”, as much to protect themselves as to avoid the wrath of the other. Edward wasn’t the type to break that rule, and if he’d asked, Jon would have given him a sample willingly.
“What happened to my fear toxin?” Jon asked mildly, only to watch Edward repress a flinch. He had definitely been exposed.
“Why do you assume I know what happened to it?”
“Because the only other person here is you, and Edgar Allan Crow doesn’t have the drive or the capabilities to do so.” Jon sighed. “I’m not mad, Edward, I just want you to tell me the truth.”
Evidently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Edward wrapped his arms around himself in some sad attempt at a hug, one with a white-knuckled grip on his biceps. He met Jon’s eyes with desperation, pleading to be believed.
“I didn’t steal it, I swear to you, I didn’t-”
“Then what happened to it?”
Edward seemed to spend a long time calculating an answer, which worried him. The longer he took to reply, the less likely Jon was getting the truth. Not that Edward could lie, but he wasn’t above putting a layer or two of obfuscation over the truth.
“I stand a silent guardian of the yield, instilling fear in murders. What am I?”
Abruptly, Jon realized he’d been hearing a lot less of the Scarecrow than usual as of late. The Scarecrow had historically seen Edward as a threat, sometimes even taking steps to eliminate him from Jon’s life. None had been successful, but once they’d entered into a relationship, he’d expected the Scarecrow’s ranting and thinly veiled desires to hurt Edward to increase in both frequency and intensity. In fact, the opposite had been true. He’d thought the Scarecrow had accepted that Edward made him happy.
Apparently, he hadn’t.
“Did the Scarecrow…” Jon trailed off. He didn’t want to say the words, because it would make them true. Edward nodded his head, once, and Jon’s heart grew cold in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.” Edward’s voice contained a concerning degree of sincerity even as his voice wavered.
Jon felt sick. “You don’t get to make that decision, Edward!” He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. “It was my hands that did this to you. My hands that forced you to relive your worst nightmares. How can you even stand to look at me, let alone share a living space?”
“Because it wasn’t you. And if it kept Scarecrow off your back for a few days, I figured it was worth it.” Edward carded a hand through his hair. “Besides, it’s not like that’s the first time.”
“The first time you’ve been hurt, or the first time the Scarecrow hurt you?” Edward wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Jon supposed he had his answer. “Edward.”
The nightmares hadn’t been nightmares, then, had they? They had been glimpses through the Scarecrow’s eyes as he’d abused - tortured - Edward. His partner. And Edward hadn’t said a damn thing, opting instead to suffer in silence. He’d wrapped bandages around the gashes, applied makeup to hide the bruises, and went about his day like this was old hat to him.
Jon supposed that in a way, it was.
“I’m not helpless, Jonathan!” Edward snapped. “I know how to take a hit, hell, I’m used to it-”
“That’s not the point!” Jon slammed his hands on the counter to emphasize his point, and Edward flinched. Jon hated himself for that. “It’s not safe for you to be with me.”
“I don’t care.”
And he didn’t, did he? Edward was willing to endure a great deal of physical and emotional abuse without complaint because that had been his childhood. He was under the assumption that love and pain went hand in hand. Jon had hoped to show Edward that if someone really cared about him, they wouldn’t hurt him. He’d failed.
Jon knew what he had to do.
It would be hard for Edward to hear, hell, it would be hard for him to say, but it was better to hurt him now than for him to end up dead at the Scarecrow’s - at Jonathan’s - hands. He couldn’t let the feelings he had for the other man change his mind.
He couldn’t let himself turn into his father.
“We’re done,” Jon stated, sharply enough that Edward’s head whipped to face him. “I can’t trust you to tell me when something is truly wrong with our relationship, and I refuse to be an abuser. Gather your items, get out, and don’t come back.”
Edward looked like he’d been struck. “You don’t have to do this, we can figure something out-”
“There is no ‘we’, Edward. Not anymore.”
“Don’t do this, Jon, please-” Edward was practically begging.
“Leave. I won’t ask again.”
He stared at Jon for a long moment, tears in his eyes, before slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, and then, Edward was gone, disappearing out of the almost rusted-shut door of the warehouse.
When Jon could trust that Edward was well and truly gone, his strength fled, and he buried his face in his hands. It had been the right thing to do. He just needed to make himself believe that. But why did it have to hurt so much?
You’re safe now, Johnny, the Scarecrow crooned in his mind. I’ve got you.
Normally in situations like this, he would surrender to the Scarecrow, letting his control melt away, but now? With this? The Scarecrow was the one that had caused this problem in the first place, and now Edward was gone, and Jon was alone.
At least this way, the only one he could hurt was himself.