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“Tuesday, eighteenth of March. Current time is fifteen minutes-past-eight in the morning. Dr. Lyla Branning proceeding - with no one else present - with one-to-one therapy. Patient is Dr. Jonathan Crane, aka…the Scarecrow. Dr. Crane was admitted to Arkham Asylum after unleashing the gas version of…fear toxin…upon the psychology class of Gotham State University. This is not the first time Dr. Crane has targeted his old place of teaching; Dr. Crane’s second admittance to Arkham was due to his hunting down of his old colleagues and superiors at the university and exposing them to a strong enough dosage of fear toxin that some of them were literally…frightened to death…while others remain mentally-incapacitated and traumatised.
“Dr. Crane has been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, and it was his other persona that went about killing these people: Scarecrow. However, I would like it to be acknowledged that I do not wish to imply that Dr. Crane is innocent here. When asked about how he felt, learning what Scarecrow had done to his old co-workers, Dr. Crane replied, ‘All according to plan’. This leads me to believe that Dr. Crane and Scarecrow, rather than oppose each other…work together. And that, perhaps, Dr. Crane intentionally brings Scarecrow forward when he needs some of the…dirtier work done, per se. Perhaps, Scarecrow volunteers.
“In this session, I want to explore Dr. Crane and Scarecrow’s relationship with each other, rather than their individual relationships with others (of which, Dr. Crane claims, Scarecrow has none). In this session…I would like to talk to Scarecrow. Whether this will be possible or not will be left up to the persona himself, and I hope that -”
The door at the far end of the room opened and Dr. Branning flinched, mouth open to speak as a guard stepped into the room backwards, pulling along one of the rickety old wheelchairs that Arkham kept for hurt, old or uncooperative patients.
Dr. Branning wouldn’t have considered Dr. Crane any of the three, and so she frowned confusedly.
The guard caught her gaze, shrugged and replied, “Wouldn’t come quietly. Fucking fruitcake.”
“Please, don’t refer to the patients that way,” Dr. Branning scolded him.
The guard shrugged and set the wheelchair in the spot opposite the doctor, having to move the already-provided wooden chair in order to do so.
In the wheelchair sat Dr. Jonathan Crane, slumped, with his head leaned against the top of the wheelchair’s back; such a tall man, and such a small wheelchair, he was halfway off the seat in order to accomplish this position. His rust-coloured hair was flopped over his face, strands gently stroking the skin of his nose and making it twitch, and his glasses were slightly askew. His hands laid together on one of his thighs, forced together with handcuffs, and his mouth was open enough to allow a trail of drool to leak down his chin…and he was snoring.
Dr. Branning went to speak, only to pause. She frowned at the guard. “He’s asleep.”
The guard shrugged again and left her to it, shutting the door behind him.
Dr. Branning huffed, shaking her head at such uncaring behaviour. No wonder Arkham had such a poor reputation; how would they ever help these poor people if nobody bothered to care? She leaned over the desk and shook Dr. Crane’s hand gently. “Dr. Crane…Dr. Crane…”
Jonathan’s eyes flew open in a millisecond, immediately fixing her with a glare that was well-practised and often used, before the brown orbs softened and he clicked his tongue. He straightened in his wheelchair, coughing lightly and cleaning his mouth the best he could (he had rolled the sleeves of his orange overalls to his elbows; most likely regretting it now). He shook his head. “Forgive me, doctor. My old age an’ all.”
Dr. Branning smiled politely, pulling her hand back and relaxing in her own chair again. “Now, now, Dr. Crane. You’re in perfect condition. Although, as I’ve said before, I would like you to try and put on a few pounds…”
“I’ve tried, doctor.” Jonathan stretched in his chair; his spine let out a loud crack as his joints popped back into place and Jonathan winced. He reached up to push his glasses up his nose with his cuffed hands, pushing his hair out of his face while he was at it. “S’pose it’s my ol’ metabolism.”
(Or it was because the awful food served at Arkham lacked real calories, but Branning really had no say in what was served in the kitchen, so Crane would continue to avoid gaining weight.)
Dr. Branning hummed, then went for her papers. As she did so, she spoke aloud to the recorder beside her, “We will begin the session now. Dr. Crane,” she leaned her arms on the table, “how are you today?”
“Peachy,” Jonathan replied bluntly.
“You seem tired.”
“You would be too, if ya had to live beside Harvey Dent like I do. My cell’s next ta his, an’ he talks during the night. It’s annoying.” He stretched again. “Between you an’ me, I purposely put up a fight so they’d stick me in a wheelchair. Get some shut-eye.”
Dr. Branning hummed again. “I’ll see what I can do about that, professor.”
“Much obliged.”
Dr. Branning nodded, then consulted her notes. “Now, as you recall, Dr. Crane, I gave you a questionnaire to fill out before the session so that I could learn about how asylum life is treating you, any medication you‘ve been put on, etcetera, etcetera. You were asked how well you believe your medication to be working, giving us a score out of ten. And you gave us…a two.”
Jonathan inhaled slowly, tipping his head back. “Pretty sure y’all are not even givin’ me the right drug, to be honest. Does nothing but leave a bad taste in my mouth.”
Dr. Branning nodded and made a note of that. “We’ll look into that then, Dr. Crane.”
“Great.”
Finishing scribbling her note down, Dr. Branning looked to Crane again. He didn’t seem at all interested in the session, his gaze flicking back and forth between two of the corners above them, but Dr. Branning was used to that. Jonathan was rarely ever interested in therapy, be it group or one-to-one, and he wouldn’t be the first (nor the last) patient to have such an attitude. At least he wasn’t making crude comments or threatening to beat her skull in.
If anything, Jonathan Crane was actually one of her favourite patients. He was decently-mannered and quiet, if just a bit rough around the edges. She had been the therapist who had worked the group therapy sessions he had attended previously, and had been one of the few who had gotten him to talk about his past. Not much, just a few bits here and there about his family, but it had been something.
“You gave us fives and sixes for the rest of the questions - how you feel your mental health has been lately, how well you’ve interacted with other patients…”
“I’m in a mental asylum,” Jonathan said. “While I currently have no desire for escape, I am also not havin’ the time of my life right now.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. Branning replied with a nod and pushed the sheet of paper containing Crane’s questionnaire results back under her notepad. She leaned on her arms again and gave Jonathan an encouraging smile. “Now, Dr. Crane, I thought, for this session, we could delve further into the topic of your relationship with your second personality.”
Jonathan continued to stare at the ceiling, but he raised an eyebrow. “You wanna talk about how I feel toward Scarecrow?”
“Yes, I would.” Dr. Branning flipped to a new page in her notepad. “You’ve been asked constantly how Scarecrow affects your relationships with other people and how you affect any relationships he has. I think it’s time to focus on the two of you together.”
Why nobody had asked him about his feelings toward Scarecrow before, she didn’t know; it should’ve been the first thing on anybody’s list. Made them seem like incompetent stereotypes, asking him which parent he blamed for his mental state and what he could do to turn his life around. No wonder Arkham Asylum had a reputation for being a revolving door rather than a place of help; she worked hard to change that.
“Suppose,” Jonathan muttered.
“So, I’ll start with the obvious: how do you feel toward Scarecrow?”
There was silence as Jonathan continued to stare at the ceiling. Whether he was considering it or reluctant to answer, Dr. Branning wasn’t certain of, since his expression didn’t change.
Just when she was going to give some encouragement, Jonathan answered slowly, “…Scarecrow…is my friend.”
Dr. Branning straightened and wrote a note of this under the subheading of ‘Scarecrow to Jonathan’.
Scarecrow = Jonathan’s friend.
She looked back to Dr. Crane. “Best friend?”
“Only friend.”
“Oh?” Dr. Branning scribbled this down. “What about Dr. Quinzel?”
Jonathan frowned confusedly and finally looked to her again, head slowly bringing itself up from the wheelchair’s back. He almost looked irritated by the question. “What about her?”
“In previous sessions, you said she keeps you company while you’re in Arkham. Sits with you at lunch and dinner, plays board games with you during relaxation time. Is Harley Quinn not your friend, Dr. Crane?”
Jonathan stared at her, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes half-lidded, looking even more perturbed by the question. It was like this was a subject he wasn’t comfortable talking about, as if he was annoyed at the prospect of someone thinking he and the Joker’s right-hand-woman were friends, even though Dr. Branning was certain that wasn’t the case. He spoke warmly of Harley Quinn, mentioned how bright she was really and how she kept him on his toes; one inmate he was comfortable around.
After a few seconds of silence, Jonathan reiterated, “Scarecrow is my only friend. End of story.” He tipped his head back and stared at the corner of the room.
Dr. Branning faltered, truly expecting him to take back the first statement, before she nodded slowly and scribbled this down.
Refuses friendship that isn’t Scarecrow’s - manipulation? Or simple discomfort? Further questioning needed, when Dr. Crane is ready.
“Alright,” Dr. Branning began, finishing her note-taking before looking to Crane again. He seemed determined not to return her gaze. “What makes you think of Scarecrow as a friend? Is it his constant presence in your life?”
Jonathan remained silent again; it was still difficult to tell if he didn’t want to answer or if he was thinking about how he would do so. “…He’s had a positive effect on my life.”
“Has he?” Dr. Branning was genuinely surprised. After everything she’d heard about Scarecrow, it was difficult to consider him anything but a menace and a manipulator.
“He has.”
“And how so?”
“…Gotten me outta…tough situations.”
“Your childhood -”
“Yes.”
The response was forceful enough that she knew to stop asking there.
Dr. Branning swallowed thickly, intimidated, before she looked down at her papers as she pondered. Dr. Crane was clearly in no mood to talk about this any further; his silence would no longer be concerning.
Perhaps now was the best time to move onto…the bigger plan.
Dr. Branning cleared her throat, drew a line under her notes about Crane, and wrote ‘Jonathan to Scarecrow’ before she looked to her patient with a tight smile, feeling her nerves pick up.
Scarecrow had a reputation in the asylum; everybody feared him. She had never been present for any of the incidents he had caused, but she had heard of them: one-man rampages, the cause of death for several guards and one inmate, inducing nightmares upon staff and patients alike simply by singing his nursery rhymes. It was a Code Red situation if someone picked up on Dr. Crane’s shift in personality; while she had never seen any of the incidents, she had seen guards tackle him to the ground the second they realised he was no longer Jonathan Crane.
Dr. Branning leaned on her arms again. “Now, Dr. Crane. I’d like to try another new approach to this session, if that’d be alright with you.”
Jonathan sighed through his nose. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”
“Of course you do, Dr. Crane. This is all within your consent…and Scarecrow’s, of course.”
Jonathan didn’t reply verbally; his confusion was written across his face, even as he continued to keep his gaze from her.
She gave him the answer to his silent question rather bluntly: “Dr. Crane…I’d like to speak to Scarecrow.”
There came another pause. Silence for a few seconds longer than the others, nearly a full minute. Then Jonathan was raising his head and looking at her seriously. “…That is not a good idea.”
“I’m sure you could find a way to convince him, doctor.”
“It ain’t him that needs ta be convinced.”
Dr. Branning shifted in her chair. “You’re reluctant.”
“Yes. This isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Ya know about Scarecrow, you don’t need me ta tell you why it would be a damn awful idea fer you to talk to him as well. Why do you need to see him?”
“I’d like to ask him questions as well.”
Jonathan scoffed. “Scarecrow isn’t interested in talk.”
“As I said, Professor Crane, I’m sure you could convince him.”
“He doesn’t need convincing, Dr. Branning, as I said. He’s itchin’ ta get out. The point is, it’d be a bad idea fer him to take over. Leave it at me fer now.”
Dr. Branning frowned and opened her mouth to speak, only to stop herself when Jonathan suddenly straightened in his chair, baring his teeth and cringing as if in pain. She watched him for a few seconds as he popped the joints in his neck and shoulders, then she went to ask if he was alright before he interrupted her with a long, deep breath taken in between his teeth.
Those exposed teeth were now that of a grin’s, not a cringe, and he craned his neck as he looked to the right. His voice came out raspier, slower, as he said, “Lookit her, Jonny. The good doctor wants ta meet me - it’d be rude ta refuse…”
Dr. Branning’s shoulders tensed. Her gaze locked on Scarecrow, her hand felt for her notepad, scrambling for it, before she was hunching over and writing a note in the corner of the page.
Signs of Scarecrow: rougher voice, thicker accent, grinning, deep breath as shift occurs,
She looked up as she heard the man take in another deep breath through clenched teeth, head whipping to the left as Jonathan replied, “No. I already said that’d be a bad idea.”
Another inhale. He looked to the right. “What’d be so wrong about it, Jonny? We’ll jus’ have a li’l talk. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
Another inhale. The left. “No! I told you: you ain’t allowed ta talk to any therapists! We agreed on that, Scarecrow! Ya said ya didn’t care for any of it!”
Right. “But this is different, Jonny. She’s askin’ fer it…”
Left. “She ain’t askin’ fer that!”
Right. “Oh-ho-ho…I think she is. She’s gotta be, if she really thinks this’ll work.”
Left. “But she ain’t…”
Right. “But she is…”
Jonathan stood up so quickly that it made his wheelchair recoil, its squeaky wheels making irritating shrieks as it rolled backwards until it hit the wall behind Crane.
Dr. Branning flinched and leaned back in her chair, hugging her notepad desperately to her chest with one arm, her other hand flinching toward the button under the desk that would alert the guards that she needed help. Perhaps this really hadn’t been a good idea, perhaps he’d been right, perhaps it was foolish to call out the Scarecrow.
Facing the left now, Jonathan curled his fingers into fists and shouted to the air, to his hidden, second personality, “Damn it, Scarecrow, ya ain’t listenin’!! It’s not safe! Ya know it ain’t safe! This is not the time nor the place fer that - yer gonna ruin everythin’ we’ve built up if you -”
“Dr. Crane!”
Jonathan spun around to the overwhelmed therapist, brown eyes blazing with rage toward his second persona, teeth bared like an animal ready to attack.
Dr. Branning swallowed thickly, took a moment to settle her racing heart, before she sat up in her chair and spoke calmly, “I assure you…Scarecrow will be perfectly safe here.”
The silence came once more.
Jonathan’s expression of rage slipped into one of confusion - eyebrow arched, mouth closing, brow creased - before he snorted. His hands, cuffed as they were, rose up to cover his face as he, shockingly, began chuckling into them. Utterly amused, utterly delighted, he laughed into his hands for a good thirty seconds, dragging them down his face once he was done, then he came out of hiding.
He was smiling widely, still very amused.
Dr. Branning regarded this all with deep confusion, and even a little fear. Nobody had ever heard Jonathan Crane laugh so heartily before.
Jonathan didn’t acknowledge it; he nodded slowly a few times. “…Alright. Alright…If ya wanna meet ‘im that badly…”
He turned and walked over to his abandoned wheelchair, reaching for its arm to drag it back over to the table, before he suddenly froze and raised his head to look at the mirror on the wall.
In actuality, it was a one-way mirror, with the other side being a window for other therapists and guards to look in on the session. Dr. Branning was certain nobody was there; this was a private session, she was sure they would’ve burst in when Crane had started yelling and, if she really needed any guards or other doctors, she would click the button under her desk that would call for backup. She wondered if Crane could see something she couldn’t, which undoubtedly was the case as he - no.
No, it wasn’t Jonathan Crane who spoke next.
“…Do you trust me, child…?”
Jonathan shuddered and stared into the mirror with the expression of a concerned and scared little boy. He inhaled some air before nodding shakily. “…Yes…”
The wheelchair was grabbed and pulled back over to the table. As he returned, Jonathan’s head lowered, his hair flopping over his eyes, and remained so until he dropped back down into the wheelchair, landing with a thump.
There was a pause, in which Dr. Branning watched him carefully, then there was another inhale and Scarecrow raised his head to grin at the woman opposite him. “Doctor…”
Dr. Branning felt her shoulders tense again. Something about the way he grinned, something about the way he purred the word, something about the way his eyes had widened to their furthest points, the pupils little dots within the brown irises, made a chill run up her spine. But, still, she prevailed; she hadn’t allowed a patient to scare her off before, she wasn’t going to begin now. “Scarecrow, I presume?”
“You’d be presumin’ right.”
“Lovely to meet you, Scarecrow.”
Scarecrow chuckled, a cold, calculating sound. “Why, doctor…Yer too kind.”
“I was just asking Jonathan some questions regarding your relationship with him.”
“I know. I was listenin’ in.”
“Then you’d know, I suppose, that I’d like to ask the same questions to you.”
Scarecrow’s grin became a thin, very wide smile. “Fire away, doctor. But, ah, before ya do…I have a request…”
Dr. Branning faltered, surprised, and waved a hand as she said politely, “Oh - yes, go ahead, Scarecrow, please.”
Scarecrow clicked his tongue, tilting his head slowly. “Can I…walk around fer a bit? I’m afraid I’m a more…fidgety man than Jonny, if ya can believe it.”
Dr. Branning hesitated. Allow a threat so large that his mere presence was considered a Code Red to walk around during a session? Allow him that much freedom, even when he’d been classed as so dangerous? Would that be a smart idea?
No.
But it was the idea she was going with. It might’ve gotten him to talk, after all; she couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Besides, she liked to keep the comfort of the patient in mind. Wouldn’t want Scarecrow to be uncomfortable, now, would we? Not after he’d so politely stepped up to speak to her.
“…I…suppose that would be alright.”
“Much obliged.” Scarecrow rose from his seat, mule-kicked the wheelchair away to make it rocket backwards and crash into the wall, so suddenly that Dr. Branning jumped in her seat.
With a grin directed at her fear, Scarecrow set off in a walk around the room, his steps so light and soft, he was practically floating.
Dr. Branning took a deep breath, settled her nerves, then took up her notepad and pen again. Clearing her throat, she asked, “…How do you view Dr. Crane, Scarecrow? Is he your friend, as Jonathan describes you?”
Scarecrow whistled a long note. “O’ course Jonny’s my friend. He’s a very close friend o’ mine.”
Dr. Branning wrote this down. “So you’d consider Jonathan your best friend?”
“Jonny…is my only friend.”
The doctor’s eyebrows raised. Same answer, and she couldn’t attempt to bring anyone else into this as she had done with Crane. Jonathan had said repeatedly before that Scarecrow held no personal relationships with anyone but himself; if Scarecrow said Crane was his only friend, then Lyla had to go with it.
Nodding once, she wrote this down. “And…what makes you consider Jonathan your friend? I’ve been told you’re not a people’s person, but Jonathan’s different.”
“Oh…very different.” Scarecrow continued to circle her. “Jonny…has helped me so much…and I, him.”
“Helped you?” Dr. Branning looked up at him, watching over her shoulder as he walked behind her. “How has Jonathan helped you, Scarecrow?”
Scarecrow didn’t answer right away, just as Jonathan had done so before. Exactly like Crane, it was difficult to tell if he was hesitating or just thinking. He simply kept circling, circling, circling.
Dr. Branning took but a moment to look down at her notes, ready herself for the answer when it came, then looked up again and immediately jolted at the sight of Scarecrow standing in front of her desk, staring directly down at her with his lips pressed tightly together, eyes drilling into her soul.
Dr. Branning felt herself begin to sweat, her heart pounding in her chest and fingernails digging into her notepad as she held it to her heart like a shield against Scarecrow’s gaze, and the light tremble in her hands began as Scarecrow’s lips peeled back into a wide grin and his eyes widened once more.
“Without Jonny,” Scarecrow began lowly, “I would still be standin’ in that field.”
Dr. Branning swallowed thickly, willed herself to calm down, and asked, “F…Field?”
“Field.”
“What…What field?”
Scarecrow’s grin slowly faded, replaced with a tight frown that made Dr. Branning regret asking. Scarecrow tilted his head; it fell upon his own shoulder with a sudden drop, like a sack of potatoes. “The field that Jonny and I met in. The one that bitch made him tend ta everyday…where I watched over him and listened ta him…when no one else would…”
Dr. Branning swallowed thickly. Jonathan’s past had been a topic one didn’t delve into, he hated speaking of it besides a few hints, but Scarecrow seemed perfectly willing. That had the dear doctor wondering if Jonathan and Scarecrow had some arrangement between them or if Scarecrow was simply more open with his thoughts.
“Jonny hated that place so much…’til I came along,” Scarecrow was saying, eyes now shifting their gaze to the wall behind Dr. Branning. With those half-lidded eyes and that faded frown, he almost looked tired, depressed. Like the thought of such a place brought him down. “We’d talk fer hours, me an’ him. Whatever Jonny wan’ed…Was always whatever Jonny wanted…And it always will be.”
Dr. Branning gulped again. There was a tension in the air, formed entirely from how soft-spoken Scarecrow now seemed to be. However, she wouldn’t let it deter her, no matter how much she was now beginning to wish she hadn’t called Scarecrow out. She pulled her notepad from her chest, swallowed thickly again, then spoke up, “…You…care for Jonathan, then?”
Scarecrow’s gaze flicked to her. “…Did ya think that I didn’t?”
Dr. Branning’s heart pounded. “I…Um - no. No, I…It’s just…”
Scarecrow continued to stare. His face was tightening back into a frown.
“I-I…It’s just…”
Scarecrow suddenly tipped his head to the other shoulder, so quickly and so violently that his neck let out a sickening crack, a sound so vile that Dr. Branning gasped and was convinced, if only briefly, that Scarecrow had just broken Jonathan Crane’s neck. His eyes were still fixed upon her, widened once more, but so full of anger and accusation. “Just…what?”
Dr. Branning was trembling now. “J-Just…You seem to…control Jonathan’s thoughts a lot…Influence him, maybe even…manipulate him? He’s friends with Dr. Quinzel, I know he is. Mr. Nygma, too. But he won’t admit to that because…you’re here. And…am I not wrong when I say…you’re stopping him from doing that? A-And stopping him from…going straight, as it were?”
Silence.
Scarecrow’s eyes had widened to their furthest points again. His nostrils had flared, lips tightly pressed together, right eyebrow twitching.
Dr. Branning chewed her lip, brow furrowing as she stared at him. His neck was still crooked; that would hurt Dr. Crane once he returned, no doubt. But that was exactly her point: Scarecrow wasn’t good for Jonathan. It wasn’t healthy, keeping him around, he wasn’t careful with the shared body. He needed to go.
The silence continued…then Scarecrow righted his head with another crack…and he began to walk again.
Dr. Branning was too scared to watch him.
He circled her twice in silence, his footsteps making no noise, before he spoke, “…How ‘bout I ask you somethin’ now…Lyla…?”
Dr. Branning swallowed thickly and didn’t dare correct him on her name. “Y-Yes?”
He circled her once more. “…Do you wanna get rid of me?”
She was afraid he’d say that.
Her throat constantly feeling dry, Dr. Branning looked down at her notes, only to find she’d scribbled on her page without realising, just a nothing mess of lines, a nervous tic in Scarecrow’s presence. She stared at it for a moment, tried to remember what she’d initially pressed her pen to the page for in order to start that nothing doodle, then she raised her gaze as Scarecrow passed by the desk again.
She wet her lips by licking them once, then spoke carefully, “…Yes.”
Scarecrow’s walking didn’t cease. She couldn’t see his expression; he was behind her when she answered.
“…Scarecrow…Jonathan made you…during what I don’t doubt was a time of need…And this jumble of personalities, of wants and desires, has led to him doing…very bad things…Keeping you around, Scarecrow…It isn’t healthy…”
Scarecrow’s eyebrows rose as he passed by the desk again. “No?”
“No.”
He continued to circle her.
Dr. Branning lowered her gaze again, too frightened now to look at him. There was nothing to write, nothing to distract her with, and so she sat, trembling and frightened and alone with the beast. The prey, circled by the predator. The rabbit, lost in the lion’s cage.
Something inside of her - something stupid, perhaps the same something that had gotten her to plan Scarecrow’s involvement in the first place - told her to speak again. To try and appease the Strawman.
“…Wouldn’t you like that, Scarecrow?…For Jonathan to be…healthy again…? For him to be okay? For him to live…a normal life? I know he enjoyed teaching. Wouldn’t that be better for him? Wouldn’t that…protect him?”
She didn’t realise, until she looked up and he never passed her, that Scarecrow had stopped walking.
He was standing behind her.
“Scare -”
Her head was thrown backwards as the thin chain of Scarecrow’s handcuffs dug into her throat, her whole body pulled back until her chair almost toppled over, her hands coming up automatically to try and pry the chain away, and the only noise that escaped her was the frantic gasping for breath as Scarecrow scowled down at her from above, baring his teeth like the predator he was.
“You wanna take Jonny away from me?” Scarecrow was hissing at her, pulling on both cuffs. “You think you know what’s best?! Nobody gets between me an’ Jonny, you understand me?! NOBODY! Jonny is my boy an’ you - you ain’t takin’ him away from me!”
He took the chain from her neck; she leaned forward as air returned in a rush and she gasped, then he suddenly yanked backwards again and cut into her skin, resuming the strangulation, putting more strength into it, ignoring how Dr. Branning clawed at the chain and his hands and tried to dig her fingers in between the chain and her neck.
“NOBODY IS! You understand me, girl?! I killed that BITCH -”
He brought her forward once more, then yanked her back.
“- I killed those GUARDS -”
A harsher tug on the chain.
Dr. Branning began kicking, wheezing and struggling.
“- I killed that PATIENT -”
Pushed forward, yanked back.
Head feeling light, vision beginning to blur, tears flowing down her cheeks, heart pounding too fast - she was going to die.
“- I killed them THUGS -”
Chain readjusted the positioning.
She was going to die, please, God, don’t let her die, please -
“- I killed them FUCKERS FROM THE UNIVERSITY -”
She could feel his thumbs against her jaw, pushing painfully in, as the tugging became harder.
Please, please, please, don’t do this -
“ALL FOR JONNY! AN’ I’LL DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN IF I HAFTA! IF HE WANTS ME TO! I’LL KILL EVERY FUCKER IN THIS FUCKING CITY! I’LL KILL THE BAT HIM-FUCKING-SELF! I’LL KILL YOU! HOW’S THAT FER CARIN’, LYLA?! HOW’S THAT FER CARING?!”
Lyla Branning kicked and struggled and clawed at Scarecrow’s hands and dug her nails in and cut into his fingers but she was ignored and she sobbed and prayed and willed for this not to be the day she died and begged for Jonathan Crane to return so she wouldn’t die because she couldn’t die she couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t this couldn’t be happening please don’t let this happen please please please she kicked and she struggled and she fought back this couldn’t be happening please please please don’t let this happen please please please kick kick kick struggle struggle struggle fight fight fight PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE kick kick kick foot hit the table kick kick kick the underside of the desk kick kick kick the button PLEASE DON’T DO THIS SOMEBODY GET THE GUARDS please please please vision fading breath leaving tears pouring PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE -
When she could hear again, when her eyes finally began opening, she was on the floor, words of comfort and encouragement being spoken in her ear as her crumpled body lay on its side, throat sore, head hurting, tears still wet on her cheeks.
Her chair had been knocked over, she felt the wound from the fall on the back of her head, and Dr. Bartholomew was knelt beside her.
“It’s alright now, Lyla, it’s alright…” He was muttering, soothing her, or at least trying to, but the noise at the door was too great for her to focus on his voice.
Two guards were wrestling Dr. Jonathan Crane from the room, holding his arms and one grabbing at his hair to yank his head back, a similar movement to what Scarecrow had done to Lyla.
Jonathan fought back against them; he was shouting something that she couldn’t make out at first, then his furious words hit her.
“I TOLD YOU!! I TOLD YOU!! YOU ASKED FOR IT, CHILD! YOU ASKED FOR IT! ONLY A FUCKING IDIOT COULDA THOUGHT THAT I MEANT SCARECROW’S SAFETY! ONLY A FUCKIN’ FOOL!”
“GET HIM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” The third guard, standing between her and Crane, barked at the two dragging Jonathan from the room.
The guards put their backs into it, pulling at Jonathan’s arms and hair, and resorted to lifting him off his feet as they carried him through the doorway.
The doctor fought back still, kicking his long legs into the air, cursing them out and trying to yank his arms back, but they were stronger and hadn’t suffered the mind-fuck that was allowing Scarecrow to take control, and so Dr. Jonathan Crane was pulled out of the room, with a promise of a place in solitary confinement.
Dr. Bartholomew was still speaking to Lyla, while a female doctor she couldn’t yet identify, hadn’t even noticed, kneeling beside Bartholomew, was stroking her dark hair gently.
“It’s alright, dear, it’s alright…He’s gone now, it’s alright…” Dr. Bartholomew was whispering.
When Dr. Branning could finally move, when enough oxygen had returned to her lungs and to her brain, she began sobbing and wailing on the floor, rolling onto her back to look up at Dr. Bartholomew.
“Never again…!” She said through her sobs, looking up at the lead therapist pleadingly. “Never again! Don’t ever let him near me! Please! Not him! Please!!”
“Alright, Lyla, alright,” Dr. Bartholomew soothed. “We won’t have you treat Dr. Crane again -”
“No!”
The other doctors faltered, confused.
“Not him!” Lyla Branning rolled back onto her side, curling up into a ball and covering her face with her shaking hands. “Scarecrow…!…Sc…Scarecrow…! Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow!”
And only Dr. Jonathan Crane could hear Scarecrow’s delighted laughter in response to traumatising yet another Arkham Asylum therapist.