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

The Dark Knight.

Jonathon Crane:

It took me three days to assemble a crew of men willing to work on promises. Promises of endless wealth if only they'd aid in my smuggling and selling. If only they would act as my protection. Six of my men broke into Arkham's basement to secure the remaining 400 pounds of powdered Fear Serum. In Gotham you could sell just about anything if you promised a good time alongside it.

When i woke up in the van three days ago; she was gone, and in her absence was a small playing card, the joker's card. In that moment I knew exactly who had taken her.

Jack Napier, one of my patients. A man who's very brain I have been inside of. That twisted demon; i can just imagine what he's been doing to her- how he's been treating her. I have seen every horror that his deranged brain has to offer this world; and I know that he's unleashing just about every single one of them upon her.

Jack Napier could've taken me for my crimes against him- imprisoned me for his experiences within Arkham. He could've tortured me, but he knew better than that. He was so much smarter than that. Despite how it looked, me on the ground bleeding, Raven standing above me- he knew that if he held her; he held me. So he took her captive, leaving me with my rage, my mask, and this van.

I have so much to tell her, so many apologies, so many excuses. She never deserved this. She never deserved to be written into my plan after my generative serum kick-started her powers, she never deserved to be weaponized. She never deserved my experiments, she never deserved my darkness.

Since that morning in the van, I have been pulling together every single penny needed to wiggle my way into the Joker's infrastructure. My men have been selling for three days, and due to the Batman's destruction of most organized crime and drug dealers, my product has been a hot commodity.We had made a large sale to a man called 'The Chechen,'some mafia big shot believing to have his fist over the throat of the city. 'The Chechen' had called me for a meeting, he had said that he had wanted to buy another five pallets of powder to sell; but the slight waver in his voice gave him away completely.

I pull into the dingy parking garage at just about midnight. I sit in the back of my van, where I've been sleeping for the last few days, mask on and liquified serum pumping through the pipelines that run down the hem of my suit coat.

"That's why we bring dogs,"
The man's accent rings out from the other side of the van.

My men open the doors and stand guard as I exit the van. A man's voice echos throughout the garage in whimpering yells.

"Look what your drugs did to my customers!"
The Chechen says. He slams a trembling and begging man onto the grey pavement.

I hope he doesn't believe himself to be clever, to believe he's caught me off guard with his scheme. I truly hope he's not that stupid.

"Buyer beware, I told you my compound would take you places. I never said they would be places you'd want to go."
I explain harshly, not attempting to hide the angst in my voice.

"My business, repeat customers!"
The greasy Chechen explains, hair slicked back and a corrupt smile curled onto his face.

"You don't like what I have to offer, you can buy from someone else. Assuming batman left anyone to buy from."

Just like that, the man's black Rottweilers begin to bark, jumping into the air, held by a large man with a smile.

"My dogs are hungry!"
The Chechen yells, some misplaced power-play. Then his eyes catch something just to my left.

"Pity theres only one of you!"
He says to no one.

I look in the direction of his sudden conversation and I see the silhouette of a tall man with two pointed bat ears. I see Batman. The very sight of him brings it back, the image of the Batman soaked in gooey tar; black guck flowing from his mouth. His black hand crushing my jaw. Something hard hits the side of my van, and as I look back, I see yet another masked crusader. Fixing my eyes back on the Chechen, another 'Batman' grabs onto one of his men and flips him over the garage's railing. To my right, the initial Batman racks a rifle and releases a spray of bullets toward The Chechen and his men. The Chechen begins to yell, he, his men and his dogs taking cover beside their SUV.

"That's not him."
I remind my workers.

I slam the door to my van and run to it's driver's side, gunfire echoing through the garage.  as I reach the driver's door, bullets pepper the side of my vehicle. I dodge them, and watch happily as one of the Chechen's dog takes out the man with the rifle.

As I reach for the handle, however, the business end of a glock presses into my spine; and I freeze for only a moment before whipping around and unleashing a spray of fear serum into yet another faux Batman's face. He screams and hits the ground with a deep thud. It's silent for a moment, until the ground begins to shake, I look up from the Batman laying on the ground; only to see a large black tank jump into the parking garage, crumbling a cement wall with ease. It faces me and my men and comes to a stop; it's lights shining into my face.

"That's more like it,"
I laugh.

Here he is.

The Chechen's men begin to unload their weapons onto the large black machine. It takes every bullet happily, as my men and I wait for the Batman to emerge. Chechen's goons finish their wasting of bullets and stand silently, waiting. Suddenly the vehicle releases an RPG into the back wall. They duck as the cement behind us crumbles to dust and fire begins to catch upon surrounding cars. I squat beside my van, my guards still standing watch.

The 'Batman' with a rifle is back on his feet and unleashes another round toward a speeding car that squeals down the ramp.

From the corner of my eye, I see him. The real Batman. The man we've all been waiting for.

The Chechen opens his driver's door and slips inside, just as the rifle wielding bat imposter goes to kill him, but before he can pull the trigger, the real Bat is there. He curls the man's M1 Carbine into a pretzel and knocks him out with the swing of his elbow.

Time to go.
A few of my men stay behind, but three of my guards pile into the back of the van. I peel out, tires squealing as I make my great escape. In my side mirror I see the masked man, a Rottweiler clenched onto his throat. Now is the time!

I rip the steering wheel to the side violently, drifting into the Batman with a crash. To my dismay, he grabs onto the side, I watch his calculating eyes through my side mirror; but I drive. He slashes his arm into the van; equipped with something rather sharp and i realize he's attempting to get in.

"Shoot him!"
I yell to the men in the back.

No response.
If you want something done, you might as well do it yourself.

I slam the gas pedal to the floor and take off towards a pillar; hoping desperately to peel him off the side of this van as he slices into it's metal side door.

I watch him bounce off the pillar, and I keep going. Every minute that Raven is within the Joker's clutches, is a minute that he could be torturing her, a minute he could be raping her, that he could be-

I need to focus.

I start down the ramp, finally securing my grand escape- when suddenly the roof comes down upon me- the windshield shattering as something hard hits the roof.

Fuck.