FIC: Rumplestiltskin 10/10
Title: And Then.
Series: Rumplestiltskin 10/10
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Notes: This is the last one of the series, it’s been two years and it’s finally done. I swore I’d have it finished before the Dark Knight and today is the day of. But I haven’t seen it yet, so it doesn't count. This is short. I’m sorry, but I had to get it out before I saw TDK and I ran out of time.
Warnings: More of a coda than a real chapter.
*~*~*~*
Bruce was in a quandary. He had compiled a mental list of the pros and cons of his situation, but it wasn’t helping so much as it was confusing matters.
On the plus side: Jonathan “the Scarecrow” Crane was sitting in his bed, watching daytime talk-show television and muttering insulting things about pop psychology. He looked deliciously rumpled, freshly cut hair sweat-spiked, lips still blow-job puffy and, if Bruce played his cards right, he would likely be up for another round.
On the minus side: Jonathan was criminally insane.
And then the facts in general: Jonathan needed to go back to Arkham. Bruce couldn’t keep Jonathan like a pet; neither of them would be able to tolerate it for very long. He couldn’t let Jonathan go since he’d made no secret of the Scarecrow still being very much a part of him. And, simply, Bruce didn’t want to turn Jonathan over to the idiots in the insane asylum.
He had the feeling that if he left the decision unmade for much longer, Jonathan was going to make it for him.
Jonathan put the television on mute, took a sip from the glass of water at his elbow and gave Bruce a long, weary look. “Either do your thinking elsewhere, or stop. It’s not only tiresome and dull, but you’re giving me a headache,” he said.
Bruce got out of bed and started hunting around for his clothing. Four days of mostly fucking and he’d lost track of where things like his pants were. “I need to go out for a bit,” he said.
Jonathan turned the television off entirely and caught the undershirt that Bruce tossed his way. “Back in the box?” he asked wryly. For one, awfully tempting, moment Bruce wanted to tell him that he was welcome to stay in the trailer so long as he behaved himself, but he didn’t think Jonathan would, or even could behave himself.
“Sorry,” Bruce said, and he almost meant it.
He locked Jonathan and a book in the safebox in the Batcave and went to see Rachel. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. She was one of the only people who knew about his being Batman other than Alfred and Fox and both of them had made their opinions on the matter transparently clear. He didn’t think she would be much more sympathetic to his plight, and he wasn’t even certain he would tell her what was happening, but he needed to talk to someone other than Jonathan who had a way of putting a slant on everything.
Rachel was in her office, paper stacked a mile high on her desk and she smiled blandly at him without really looking at him before looking back again and smiling in earnest.
“Bruce,” she said, clicking her pen shut. “You look good.” She looked tired.
“I haven’t been out much,” he said. “Concussion makes fighting crime almost as hard as it does socializing.”
“I heard as much from Alfred,” Rachel said. “Apparently you gave the board quite a turn.”
Bruce sat down in the chair opposite her. It made him feel oddly like he was being interviewed. He picked up the perpetual motion figure sitting on her desk and started fiddling with it. “How’s the Arkham case going?”
Rachel heaved a sigh. “Which one?” She flicked a nail at the stacks of paper. “The ones from the patients’ families, the ones for the patients that haven’t been caught, the gas victims, the ones against Dr. Crane…I could go on.”
“Please don’t.” Bruce shrugged. “It’s still a mess then?”
“It’s not going to change overnight, Bruce.” Bruce dropped the base of the figure and had to stick his head under his chair to get it back. Rachel was smiling fondly at him when he resurfaced. “What’s this about?” she asked.
Bruce resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. “Just curious.” He put the figure back on her desk before he could break it. “So the upshot is that you wouldn’t send a dog there still.”
“It’s better than it was,” she said. “Who don’t you want to send?” Bruce looked up sharply and Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot,” Rachel said.
“It’s nothing,” Bruce said, picking at an imaginary loose thread on his thousand dollar suit. “It’s just been on my mind.”
*~*~*~*
Jonathan had taken the liberty of borrowing a knife from the kitchenette of the trailer and as soon as he heard the elevator clanking upwards and away, he started hacking into the nearest mattress. It wasn’t the easiest task ever, but he had spent almost a week with Bruce and it was time to go. Both before the novelty wore off and before Bruce had to be the Bat and do his civic duty to Gotham by turning the Scarecrow in.
Jonathan surveyed his handiwork: several holes in the mattress starting about knee-height and going up as far as he could reach, all large enough to poke his feet into. Luckily he was not a heavy man, though he doubted that the descent would be half as easy. He tucked the knife into the waistband of his sweatpants, took a deep breath and put his right foot into one of the holes, grasping the edge of one of the others. He scrambled up, the cloth tearing under him as he shifted foot and handholds as fast as he could until he was perched awkwardly on top of the safebox, balancing precariously on the mattress and the metal. Carefully, Jonathan turned himself around and lowered himself down until he was hanging by his arms. The drop wasn’t so bad then even if he was landing barefoot on uneven stone.
He was free. Sane as he was going to get, and free.
Jonathan smirked a little as he picked his way across the guano spattered ground towards the elevator. As smart as pretty, pretty Bruce Wayne could be, he didn’t always engage his brain.
Sure enough Bruce had left money in the trailer again and while his suits were mostly too big for Jonathan to bother stealing, he managed to find something that while a little large, wasn’t sweatpants. Taking the caravan would be far too risky, so Jonathan simply pocketed the four hundred dollars in cash that Bruce had and borrowed the keys to one of his many cars. He would have to abandon it the minute he reached Gotham, but it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. He could survive.
His best bet would be to get out of Gotham, but Jonathan had found that he was still angry. Not that he wanted to fight the Bat-man again, but he wanted his revenge on the city and he wanted, for once, not to be thwarted. It wasn’t smart, and he knew that. But he was more than a little insane, and Jonathan figured it was alright to indulge that a little. Bruce did and he was none the worse for it.
Jonathan turned the car downtown, towards the areas of town that were still riddled with crime and crime bosses. It might take some time to claw his way back to the top, but Jonathan was nothing if not a survivor and resourceful to boot.
*~*~*~*
“I can get you out of the city,” Bruce said, shutting the elevator door behind him. “I can’t promise you total freedom, but I can -”
Bruce stopped. The safebox was empty. The Batcave was empty.
Jonathan was gone.
“Sir?” Alfred said, appearing, as always, as though from nowhere. “Sir, the signal is in the sky, I think Gordon is calling the Batman.”
“He’s gone,” Bruce said stupidly. “He left again.”
Alfred sighed. “I’ll dismantle the box shall I sir?” When Bruce looked at him sharply, Alfred didn’t move but it looked as though he might have raised an eyebrow had he not been a butler. “Master Wayne , I doubt the Scarecrow will come back, and if you do catch him, no doubt it will be in the middle of a crime, so…”
Bruce didn’t think he had ever heard Alfred trail off before. “All right,” he said, tiredly. “All right.”
*~*~*~*
Batman stood atop one of the many spires of Gotham city and looked down on the dirty, twisted mess of streets and over at the spires and edges of the skyline. He would find the Scarecrow, eventually, somewhere out there. And then, he thought, and then they would have to see.
Series: Rumplestiltskin 10/10
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Notes: This is the last one of the series, it’s been two years and it’s finally done. I swore I’d have it finished before the Dark Knight and today is the day of. But I haven’t seen it yet, so it doesn't count. This is short. I’m sorry, but I had to get it out before I saw TDK and I ran out of time.
Warnings: More of a coda than a real chapter.
*~*~*~*
Bruce was in a quandary. He had compiled a mental list of the pros and cons of his situation, but it wasn’t helping so much as it was confusing matters.
On the plus side: Jonathan “the Scarecrow” Crane was sitting in his bed, watching daytime talk-show television and muttering insulting things about pop psychology. He looked deliciously rumpled, freshly cut hair sweat-spiked, lips still blow-job puffy and, if Bruce played his cards right, he would likely be up for another round.
On the minus side: Jonathan was criminally insane.
And then the facts in general: Jonathan needed to go back to Arkham. Bruce couldn’t keep Jonathan like a pet; neither of them would be able to tolerate it for very long. He couldn’t let Jonathan go since he’d made no secret of the Scarecrow still being very much a part of him. And, simply, Bruce didn’t want to turn Jonathan over to the idiots in the insane asylum.
He had the feeling that if he left the decision unmade for much longer, Jonathan was going to make it for him.
Jonathan put the television on mute, took a sip from the glass of water at his elbow and gave Bruce a long, weary look. “Either do your thinking elsewhere, or stop. It’s not only tiresome and dull, but you’re giving me a headache,” he said.
Bruce got out of bed and started hunting around for his clothing. Four days of mostly fucking and he’d lost track of where things like his pants were. “I need to go out for a bit,” he said.
Jonathan turned the television off entirely and caught the undershirt that Bruce tossed his way. “Back in the box?” he asked wryly. For one, awfully tempting, moment Bruce wanted to tell him that he was welcome to stay in the trailer so long as he behaved himself, but he didn’t think Jonathan would, or even could behave himself.
“Sorry,” Bruce said, and he almost meant it.
He locked Jonathan and a book in the safebox in the Batcave and went to see Rachel. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. She was one of the only people who knew about his being Batman other than Alfred and Fox and both of them had made their opinions on the matter transparently clear. He didn’t think she would be much more sympathetic to his plight, and he wasn’t even certain he would tell her what was happening, but he needed to talk to someone other than Jonathan who had a way of putting a slant on everything.
Rachel was in her office, paper stacked a mile high on her desk and she smiled blandly at him without really looking at him before looking back again and smiling in earnest.
“Bruce,” she said, clicking her pen shut. “You look good.” She looked tired.
“I haven’t been out much,” he said. “Concussion makes fighting crime almost as hard as it does socializing.”
“I heard as much from Alfred,” Rachel said. “Apparently you gave the board quite a turn.”
Bruce sat down in the chair opposite her. It made him feel oddly like he was being interviewed. He picked up the perpetual motion figure sitting on her desk and started fiddling with it. “How’s the Arkham case going?”
Rachel heaved a sigh. “Which one?” She flicked a nail at the stacks of paper. “The ones from the patients’ families, the ones for the patients that haven’t been caught, the gas victims, the ones against Dr. Crane…I could go on.”
“Please don’t.” Bruce shrugged. “It’s still a mess then?”
“It’s not going to change overnight, Bruce.” Bruce dropped the base of the figure and had to stick his head under his chair to get it back. Rachel was smiling fondly at him when he resurfaced. “What’s this about?” she asked.
Bruce resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. “Just curious.” He put the figure back on her desk before he could break it. “So the upshot is that you wouldn’t send a dog there still.”
“It’s better than it was,” she said. “Who don’t you want to send?” Bruce looked up sharply and Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot,” Rachel said.
“It’s nothing,” Bruce said, picking at an imaginary loose thread on his thousand dollar suit. “It’s just been on my mind.”
*~*~*~*
Jonathan had taken the liberty of borrowing a knife from the kitchenette of the trailer and as soon as he heard the elevator clanking upwards and away, he started hacking into the nearest mattress. It wasn’t the easiest task ever, but he had spent almost a week with Bruce and it was time to go. Both before the novelty wore off and before Bruce had to be the Bat and do his civic duty to Gotham by turning the Scarecrow in.
Jonathan surveyed his handiwork: several holes in the mattress starting about knee-height and going up as far as he could reach, all large enough to poke his feet into. Luckily he was not a heavy man, though he doubted that the descent would be half as easy. He tucked the knife into the waistband of his sweatpants, took a deep breath and put his right foot into one of the holes, grasping the edge of one of the others. He scrambled up, the cloth tearing under him as he shifted foot and handholds as fast as he could until he was perched awkwardly on top of the safebox, balancing precariously on the mattress and the metal. Carefully, Jonathan turned himself around and lowered himself down until he was hanging by his arms. The drop wasn’t so bad then even if he was landing barefoot on uneven stone.
He was free. Sane as he was going to get, and free.
Jonathan smirked a little as he picked his way across the guano spattered ground towards the elevator. As smart as pretty, pretty Bruce Wayne could be, he didn’t always engage his brain.
Sure enough Bruce had left money in the trailer again and while his suits were mostly too big for Jonathan to bother stealing, he managed to find something that while a little large, wasn’t sweatpants. Taking the caravan would be far too risky, so Jonathan simply pocketed the four hundred dollars in cash that Bruce had and borrowed the keys to one of his many cars. He would have to abandon it the minute he reached Gotham, but it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. He could survive.
His best bet would be to get out of Gotham, but Jonathan had found that he was still angry. Not that he wanted to fight the Bat-man again, but he wanted his revenge on the city and he wanted, for once, not to be thwarted. It wasn’t smart, and he knew that. But he was more than a little insane, and Jonathan figured it was alright to indulge that a little. Bruce did and he was none the worse for it.
Jonathan turned the car downtown, towards the areas of town that were still riddled with crime and crime bosses. It might take some time to claw his way back to the top, but Jonathan was nothing if not a survivor and resourceful to boot.
*~*~*~*
“I can get you out of the city,” Bruce said, shutting the elevator door behind him. “I can’t promise you total freedom, but I can -”
Bruce stopped. The safebox was empty. The Batcave was empty.
Jonathan was gone.
“Sir?” Alfred said, appearing, as always, as though from nowhere. “Sir, the signal is in the sky, I think Gordon is calling the Batman.”
“He’s gone,” Bruce said stupidly. “He left again.”
Alfred sighed. “I’ll dismantle the box shall I sir?” When Bruce looked at him sharply, Alfred didn’t move but it looked as though he might have raised an eyebrow had he not been a butler. “Master Wayne , I doubt the Scarecrow will come back, and if you do catch him, no doubt it will be in the middle of a crime, so…”
Bruce didn’t think he had ever heard Alfred trail off before. “All right,” he said, tiredly. “All right.”
*~*~*~*
Batman stood atop one of the many spires of Gotham city and looked down on the dirty, twisted mess of streets and over at the spires and edges of the skyline. He would find the Scarecrow, eventually, somewhere out there. And then, he thought, and then they would have to see.