The Skin That Crawls From You [A Jonathan Crane Fan-fiction]

"Nevermore."

"Dr Crane. Jonathon!"
I call, chasing after him in the smoke.
He turns around, a look of warning in his icey eyes.

I look about me, the Narrows are crawling with Orange jumpsuits and crooked cops. Gun shots ring in every direction, endless screams echo through the streets.

"Jonathon,"
I venture, his real name feeling so risky on my lips.

"It's too dangerous."
I plead. He looks enraged, his black hair flopped into his face.

"Come into the van- please. I can keep you safe."
He turns around and walks away, numbly without a word.

"Jonathon! At least take back this mask."
I run to him and grab his arm; yanking him to face me.

His eyes widen as they look at me; and I can't help but wonder what he sees. What his own serum does to him. If this had been a few days ago- I would've been pleased to see the twisted doctor getting a taste of his own 'medicine.' But today, it just hurts.

"Crane!"
A husky voice shouts. Out of the smoke, a tall figure emerges, an Arkham inmate adorned in our typical uniform.

"We're out on my streets now."
The voice calls.

"Here on my side of town, does your precious mind grant you any sort of power?"
He's at least six and a half feet tall. As his silhouetted form comes into view, his face is scarred and his pupils are huge.

"Fuck."
I mumble and pull Crane's arm, he doesn't budge.

"Crane."
I hiss.

He doesn't look at me.

"Who's this?"
The Arkham inmate scowls, pulling a rusted crowbar from behind his back.

"Another scarecrow?"
The man gets closer, towering over us, and crane does nothing.

"Go."
He whispers to me. Not even turning his head. His voice revealing no emotion.

"Go."

I begin to back away, waiting to see what he will do. But he just turns, and begins walking down the path. He turns his back to the inmate without another thought.

The inmate's eyebrows raise, and he swings. Hard. Whipping the metal tool at crane; it slams into his head with the most horrific sound I've ever heard, and crane hits the ground.

My blood runs cold.

But just like that- I do what I must. Something I never even knew I could. I run at the man, screaming and reach up to his neck. He goes to hit me, to swing his weapon in my direction; but before he can do a thing- he's down.  And I'm on top of him.

We fall, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his skull thumping against the pavement. A crack opens in his skull, but no blood trickles from the wound. I watch the life leave his veins, pulsing, I watch his soul leave him at my very touch. The rush his energy electrifies my bones. He takes one final breath, and he's gone. His grip on the crowbar loosens and it clatters beside his open palm. I feel his life inside me. I feel his power, his energy, his fear, his rage; and it's beautiful.

With my own adrenaline and this man's life energy pulsing through me; i hook my arms under Crane's shoulders and I drag him to the van. I lift him inside with a groan and slam the doors.

Things begin to unravel then, as I watch the door handles anxiously. Blood pools where I kneel, Crane's broken head gushing. I want to help him- to touch him- but I'm too afraid. I don't want to take his life too.

It comes in flashes. That day in his office.

"You truly don't know, do you?"
He had asked.

"How does it work?"
He seemed so eager to touch me- yet so afraid. I was eager to touch him too- but not for the same reasons (I realize now.)

"Can I kiss you?"
He had asked.
I was simply an experiment to him.

"A weapon."
As he had called me.

I watch his perfect lifeless face become paler and paler in the lowlight of the van. But I feel nothing.