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The Plot
It has been five years since the 'death' of Harvey Dent. Gotham has only become worse in it's state of coruption, and the people living there have seen this happen right before their eyes. Bruce Wayne has put all of his efforts into helping Gotham get back on it's feet, but he hasn't had much help. In the last few months, he has taken custody of a teenaged boy, Dick Grayson, who was orphaned when his parents were killed in a Circus murdering.
Meanwhile, in the darkness of the world, the clown of Gotham has been locked up in Gotham, with numerous escapes and run-ins with Batman, he always ends up back in Gotham. This Thanksgiving, however, he plans to make an escape. An escape out into the world of Gotham, and not only is he breaking out, but numerous of Batman's other villains are breaking out with him. How? Doctor Harleen Quinzel.
Commissioner Gordon's daughter, Barbara has just turned thirteen recently, and without her Uncle's knowledge has been escaping into the night, becoming known in the streets. She has befriended the thugs, and thieves of the city, though not as her normal identity but someone else. Someone different.
Also, Selina Kyle has moved into Gotham, and who knows who she'll meet and start trouble with.
It is currently the month of November, 2012, Thanksgiving is getting closer and closer and it's getting colder and colder. Snow has even fallen a bit, not much but an inch or so.
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Topic: Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] (Read 76 times)
Jonathan Crane Co-Admin Master of Fright[M:0] member is offline
Works every time!
Joined: Aug 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 31 Location: Under yer bed :D Karma: 5
Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] « Thread Started on Aug 17, 2008, 2:33pm »
The feeling of a cold barrel of a Tommy gun pressing into his skull jerked his mind back to reality. As in, he was in the middle of a warehouse, not sitting on the villain he should have been sitting on, with a gun aimed at his head. He slowly tilted his head back so he could look up at Scarecrow, glaring down at him like a parent whose about to flog their child, and gulped.
“H-hel-lo…” He managed to stammer out, forcing an uneasy smile on his face. “U-uuumm-mmm.. W-well… O-okay… So I r-really di-didn’t want to help you… C-can I j-just go home… And I’ll t-totally forget that I ever saw you?”
It was a stupid thing to ask; of COURSE Scarecrow wouldn’t let him go, he had a firearm aimed at his face!
Still, he noticed that the villain seemed to relax slightly, as if he was thinking, or distracted. By what, he wondered? There was really no reason for him to be daydreaming, seeing as someone /clearly/ mutated had fallen through the ceiling at him.
Oh, that was probably it, he was distracted by the fact that he’s not Batman and some sort of monster…
With a small growl, Hornet swatted away Scarecrow’s gun and grabbed his wrist, twisting it harshly to get him to drop his weapon, then pulled him down to get him on his level. Or rather, to get him on the ground. The logical thing he should have done was merely kick Crane’s legs out from under him, causing him to fall backwards, but, of course, he hadn’t, which resulted in him falling forwards right on top of him.
This was not part of the plan, and frankly, the laws of physics completely baffled Hornet for a minute as he tried to figure why he had Scarecrow on top of him.
-----
Now, being as distracted as he was, the Scarecrow had been totally off-guard when the god-like Bee(or wasp?) had grabbed his wrists and twisted them rather painfully, forcing him to let go of the tommy gun. Crane yelped at the unforeseen pain, his eyes widening with fri-- surprise, not fright.
And when he landed on top of the boy, he was stunned for a moment, just staring into the others` eyes and oh did he have gorgeous eyes like leaves in spring like a clear emerald but then his wrist started hurting, and reality came back to him. He quickly moved his hands, including his probably-sprained wrist, to pin down the Bee-Wasp-Whatever thing to the ground, and moved his legs so that he was straddling the others legs. Even if he himself wasn`t that strong, he was on top, so he figured he had an advantage over the shorter man.
"Now then," He moved his face closer to the boy, closer than he ever wanted to be, but not as close as he wanted; that the mask was in between him and the boy was a blessing to his frazzled mind. He shifted his body weight, adjusting so that he put most of his weight on the other`s oddly-clawed hands. "Hickory dickory dock." He turned his head to look for the gun. There it is. He calculated the distance to it in his mind, then gave up on it. "The mouse ran up the clock..." He wouldn`t be able to reach it without giving up the hold on the Wasp (He was pretty sure it was a wasp now). He`d have to find some other kind of weapon...
"The clock struck one..."
But there wasn`t one, and the fact that he was on top of the boy didn`t help with his though-process either.
"Before he could run..."
He looked back at the boy, trying his best to access his body in a reserved manner, but was failing miserably. Could he take him in a fight? Could the boy be any more comfortable?
"Hickory dickory dock."
-----
Okay, so having the villain fall on him was sort of a setback, but it wasn’t too much of a problem. He was surprised that the guy wasn’t very heavy, either, despite being about the same height as him… If that. In fact, it felt like there was a bag of feathers on him instead of a human being. It seemed like an eternity as they both stared at each other, Crane being the one doing the more intensive gawking, before the Master of Fear took the initiative and sought to restrain him.
He didn’t know why, but he found he couldn’t move. He knew with a flick of the wrist he’d send Scarecrow across the room, but he didn’t want to. That would be… Mean. Besides, with his weapon out of reach, and yes, he had noticed the other glancing over at it, determining distance and his own speed whilst chanting another rhyme, Crane was no danger to him.
Still, he was in no way willing to stay in this position for long, with Scarecrow straddling him, and his face a mere inches away from his. He could feel the burlap sack that covered the other’s head rub against the tip of his nose every time the other breathed.
Well, at least he thought he was safe. Who knew, Scarecrow might just bite his nose off through that badly stitched up slash in the front of his mask. Still, it seemed kinda off to him… The fact that Crane hadn’t strangled him to death already or something. He was just looking at him.
“Get off of me… Please.”
If never hurt to be polite, Jenna had told him. He didn’t expect it to work for Crane, but he had to try. It would be like a warning. He was just being nice at the moment.
-----
It was odd, being so close to another human being without having to study them, or strangle them, or do anything other than just look at them. He knew the other wasn`t enjoying this; there were flickers of different emotions playing all over his face, ranging from confusion to something akin to anger, and however much he hated to admit this, it was enjoyable to watch them fly past.
Then the boy spoke again, this time much more confidently, that the fun ran out. The psychiatrist in him, the part that still reigned supreme (just not at this moment), sensed the warning in the statement, and knew that this was no time for being lost in (god-forbid) someone`s eyes, and the Scarecrow knew that it would be dangerous to aggravate the patient, and rick being beaten up. Too bad Dr. Crane and the Scarecrow were out, and Johnathan was in.
Now, Johnathan knew that he had a very unhealthy body to weight ratio, and that fact didn`t help him at all. He also knew, because he was at least partly listening to the Scarecrow over there in the back of his mind, that he could easily be thrown across the warehouse, or end up with the tables turned, and he on the bottom with the Wasp boy on the top. However nice that may seem the Johnathan, that wasn`t a situation he wanted to end up in, however handsome the attacker was. He also had very limited possibilities allowed to him; he picked the one that came to his mind first.
As quick as he could, he shifted what little weight he had so that it was spread out more evenly, then took his mask off with one hand, the other hand trying it`s best to keep the others hands pinned down. And he prayed to whatever gods were watching over him, good or bad, as he pushed the mask over the Wasps face in an attempt to smother him, that the mask still had at least a small amount of fear toxin in it.
That would surely give him the upper hand.
And if there wasn`t, he was screwed.
-----
Ah-ha! He knew it! He knew that Crane was going to try and kill him sooner or later, and he had almost guessed the method. At first he had been confused as to why Scarecrow was pulling his mask off. Was he giving up? No, of course he wasn’t.
Barely a few seconds into the attack, Hornet wrenched his right arm away from Crane, snuck it underneath him, then flipped him on his back. Of course, he /could/ have thrown him across the floor, but he was a bit too panicked to think about using his full strength. He still wasn’t sure of how strong he was, and he didn’t want to kill the man. When he first saw him, he hadn’t seen his face. He was just a bad guy with no identity, who held no meaning to him. But now that he had caught sight of his features, the thought of him laying dead at his feet terrified him.
So a simple flipping would suffice.
Hornet got to his feet, swaying lightly on shaky legs. Why was the room spinning? He felt the slice on his head knitting itself back together, so that couldn’t be the problem. He had been knocked around harder than this before, so he shouldn’t have a concussion.
Why was the room darkening? He heard screaming… At him? He shook his head, a grimace crossing his face. No, no, no… Why him? He wasn’t doing anything wrong, Nothing!
“You’re a freaking monster, brat. Look at you, you’re no better than the guy laying on his back, watching you.”
Hornet froze. That was the voice of his step-dad. Why was he here? He could hear him, in his head, laughing…
“You’ll never amount to anything. No one will accept you. You’re nothing but a FREAK.”
No he wasn’t! No… He.. Wasn’t… Tears started welling up in his eyes as his body convulsed in shuddered, shutting down to everything around him. All he could hear, smell, see was his step-father.
“You deserve to be dead. Why don’t you just go hang yourself? It’s your fault your mother died! She slit her writs because you’re nothing but a horrid creature!”
Hornet fell to his hands and knees, gasping for a breath that wouldn’t come. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t… Breathe…
“I’m not… Not… My fault… Stop it… STOP IT!” He shouted at the ground, his hands balling into fists, claws cutting into his skin. “Oh God, make him stop… make him stop.”
“Hunter…”
He lifted his head, looking in the direction of Scarecrow, but not seeing him. All he could see was Jenna in front of him, covered in cuts and gashes, bleeding… Bleeding everywhere…
“Why did you do it, Hunter? Why?”
That was all Hunter could take. With a cry of anguish, he fell onto his side, curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably. Perhaps he was more susceptible to Crane’s fear gas than normal humans.
-----
When he had come up with the plan, he had been expecting to feel something other than what he was feeling right now; triumphant, victorious, curious, maybe even exhausted. But this feeling right now?
This feeling of guilt, the want to take back what he had done and never do it again?
He had never felt this way before. Not for a patient, and especially not for a victim.
When he had been flipped over on his back, he hadn`t been terribly surprised; he figured that all of his silent prayers had gone unanswered, and he closed his eyes, expecting a few punches to the face. When he had felt the boys weight (now that he was on top of him, he could tell it was waaaay more than his) disappear, that`s when the surprise kicked in.
He opened his eyes, once again expecting the boy to be pointing his gun at him, or at least threatening him in some way. What he had seen was, to him, much, much worse.
The boy deep under the effects of the toxin, deeper than even Crane had expected. He knitted his brows, watching the boy with a concerned fascination.
Then the boy had started crying, and the concern quickly dwarfed the curiosity. And then everybody was gone, and all that was left was Johnathan, and the crying boy in front of him.
He shot up when the wasp had fallen down, immediately noticing the blood, and becoming even more concerned. He froze when the boy looked up at him, and even though he knew that the Wasp wasn`t looking at him, he could still feel the fear for whatever he was seeing waft off of him. It was all he could do to keep himself from running to the boy. He saw the boy collapse, and he walked slowly to his side, careful to make no sudden movements.
Carefully, cautiously, he sat down beside the wasp, taking a hold of him and pulling him into his lap, with a strength he didn`t know he possessed. He held him close, humming an old song his grandmother used to sing to him when he was very, very little, before all the abuse had started.
Hush, little baby, don't say a word... Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird... And if that mockingbird won't sing...
-----
All those voices in his head, They were so loud, yelling at him, screaming at him. Calling him unmentionable names, telling him he was dangerous, he shouldn’t exist. Jenna was still there, blood still flowing from her open wounds, pointing an accusatory finger at him, and his stepfather was there, seeming to fill up the entire warehouse, his voice booming in his ears.
He started tearing at the sides of his face, trying to make himself not hear them. He could rip off his ears, that would work, right? Right? He didn’t want to hear them, see them, anymore. He felt hands grasping at him and he writhed weakly, trying to escape them.
“They’ll drag you down!” His stepfather screeched. “Down to HELL! AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA”
But he couldn’t, and he knew he was gone, gone, dead, like he should be…
And then a different voice, one very familiar, cut through the din of accusatory and biting words. A softer one, one that had lost it’s edge. It was almost sweet.
He couldn’t remember if his mother had ever sang him to sleep ever in his life, had ever shone affection to him in any way. But he couldn’t complain now. He was laying in a warm embrace, one he had missed out on in his childhood…
He cracked his eyes open, his breathing coming easier, his mind clearing away the horrid images, until he only saw the warehouse and Scarecrow, holding him comfortably, cooing in his ear.
He didn’t know whether to be concerned or not, so he just sat in his lap and breathed calmly, trying to rid himself of the last of the fear gas’ effects. And while he was at it, he could stand to mention his name. Or rather, his hero one.
“You can call me Hornet.”
He winced at his own words. They sounded dull and raspy. Weak. He gave a moan and pressed himself against Crane’s chest, wishing everything away.
-----
Johnathan was relieved more than words could describe when he noticed the effects of his toxin fading away on the Hornet(not a wasp?); that his breathing was slowing meant that the toxin was already leaving his system, and that he was able to talk, even if it was barely above a croak, was a comfort to him. The part of him that was still in Doctor mode found it fascinating how quickly the toxin affected the Hornet, and how quickly it left his system, especially since it was such a small dosage. All Johnathan was worried about was how much longer the boy was going to be weak like this (it worried him, and was more than appealing to the part of him that still wanted to strangle Hornet).
But the Doctor part of Crane was not to be ignored, and he untangled one of his arms, the other still wrapped around Hornet, stroking his hair. Despite him being better, he was nevertheless careful not to make any sudden movements as he gingerly pushed two of his fingers to the side of his neck, checking the boys pulse. It was rapid, but he wasn`t sure if it was always like that, or if it was caused by the toxin. And judging by the raspiness boys` voice, they were also in need of some water (water was also one of the few things that helped to lessen the effects of the toxin).
After a quick scan of the warehouse, which only contained the (stolen) laptop in the corner, and a couple of boxes, he quickly decided that it would be best to get out of the warehouse and find a more comfortable place to stay, preferably with fresh water.
"It`s very nice to meet you, Hornet." He said quietly, still cautious about doing anything that might startle the other. "I`m sure you already know who I am. Can you walk, Hornet? We need to get you to some place that has fresh water." He gave the boy a gentle nudge with his hands, encouraging him to try and stand.
-----
Hornet closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, trying to slow his heart an calm down. Examine the situation. But he found he couldn’t quite concentrate with Crane’s fingers running through his hair. Finally, he decided to give up on the whole mess as Scarecrow’s other hand came up to his neck to feel his pulse. He could feel him shift, as if looking around for something before he started talking to him in a gentle voice. Now, he wondered, how was it nice of him to meet him? There were on opposite sides here and the bad guys certainly did not want to meet the good guys at all. Now, being able to walk, that was a whole other matter, and water sounded like heaven to him, ironically enough. For a long time he wouldn’t do anything with it, after almost drowning in a public swimming pool some time when these kids pushed him in at the end of Middle School.
As Crane nudged him out of his lap, he rolled onto his side, taking deep breaths as he flexed his wings slightly, making sure they still worked after laying on them, then got to his hands in knees. The room seemed to appear as if it was underwater again, so he shut his eyes once more and waited for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet.
And instantly fell over on his side.
His legs were shaking horribly, and the room turned upside down, but he was determined not to have help from anyone, so he got back to his feet. At once, he tilted to his side, then stumbled into some boxes, which he used to keep his balance.
“I think… I can walk… In a little bit…” He croaked out, his breath once again quickening from the effort.
And while his mind still reeled from the fact that for once he was angry instead of resigned from getting beaten by another, he still wondered why Crane was helping him at all. Now was a perfect opportunity for him to grab his discarded weapon and shoot him where he stood.
-----
Crane watched Hornet worriedly, taking a few unconscious steps forwards when the boy fell over, but stopping himself when the other picked himself up. He eyed him for a moment, not for s second believing that the Hornet was ready to walk anywhere alone anytime soon, but he gave up on it. The other male was obviously not going to let him help him, so why try when all it would do was give them both some unneeded stress?
He quickly strode over to the Tommy gun, trying to get this part over with quickly, because he knew the Hornet was probably watching him. He un-cocked the gun, opened the barrel, and dumped the bullets out with a precise efficiency, pocketing the gun inside a pouch he had sewn into the inside of his trench-coat. He looked over at the Hornet, hoping he hadn`t given him a heart attack as he walked over and snatched up the laptop, sticking it under his arm (because seriously, this thing cost around $500, and he wasn`t about to leave that here).
He grabbed his discarded mask, sticking it in another of his multiple pockets (which held everything but water, sadly), and walked a bit more slowly over to the red-and-black colored man, trying his best to be nonthreatening. "Hornet, I don`t think you`re in any position to walk anywhere at the moment." He told him, still keeping his voice quiet and calm. "If we want to move anywhere, I`m going to need you to sit down for a moment and clear your head. It`d also be best if you allowed me to help you walk; you`re obviously not going to get anywhere like this, which I apologize for. Do you understand, Hornet?"
-----
Well, Crane hit that one right on the nose. Hornet was highly hesitant to let anyone help him at the moment. Even if it was Jenna. He didn’t know whether he could look at her anytime soon, but he wasn’t too worried. He often left her home for nights at a time, sometimes a week. He didn’t want to impose on her, and besides, she was probably going to stay with her parents for Thanksgiving. She’s forget all about him…
No, he couldn’t afford to be thinking about that right now. His gaze was locked on Crane as he bent over, picking up his weapon. Hornet instantly had his hand out in front of him, palm facing out, ready to impale him if he turned, but Scarecrow dumped the ammo out of it and simply put it away. Hornet slowly lowered his arm as he looked over his shoulder at him. Scowling, Hornet turned away with his back facing the other.
He heard Crane’s footsteps as he walked up behind him and he slumped his shoulders.
“I can walk by myself,” He insisted stubbornly, looking over his shoulder to peer at him from the corner of his eye.
Trying to prove his point, he let go of the crate with his other hand and took a step forward, only to wobble and fall to his hands and knees, cursing under his breath, only to shut his lips tightly and resign himself to giving an angry snort. He really didn’t like cursing. He wanted to have no similarities between him and his stepfather and he realized that he did need help.
“Okay… Fine,” Hornet said, pushing himself back onto his feet and gripping the edge of another crate. “Maybe I can’t.”
-----
Crane had noticed the odd shape on the other`s hand when it had been out-stretched; he figured it wasn`t anything interesting, maybe nothing more than an odd birth-mark, or a scar. Nevertheless, he filed it away to mull over later. At the present, though, he was wishing that the boy would just stop being so damned stubborn. "I told you you weren`t fit to walk anywhere. You`re supposed to listen to doctors, you know." He chastised softly, switching the laptop to his other arm and squatting down next to the Hornet. "Put your arm around my shoulders and I`ll help you up." He offered, placing Hornet`s arm around his shoulders himself, and standing up just a bit, to help the other man stand.
Hopefully, Hornet would be able to half-walk himself the couple of blocks it took to get to where Crane planned on having them go; anywhere else would hold the risk of having Crane recognized and attacked (and everyone knows Crane`s pretty much helpless without his toxin and a plan), and Hornet thrown in jail for being an accomplice. If that happened, he could always throw him down and pretend to be about to shoot him with a gun that didn`t have any bullets.
Which amazed him, because he didn`t exactly have the best track-record for being trustworthy.
Anyways, where they were going was a place that Crane had found when he had first started out as a criminal. It was in an old, hard-to-find basement, and when he had first found it, it had been full of all sorts of junk, and smelled like it had more than a body or two hidden somewhere. Crane had spent most of his time and hard-earned (but stolen) money into cleaning it out, refurbishing it, stocking it with various non-degradable foods and water bottles, and he even had some of his older fear toxin stashed in a box under one of the shelves. It was a place Crane only went to in extreme emergencies, and if this didn`t count as one, he didn`t know what did.
-----
Hornet just snorted at him and got back to his feet, leaning heavily on Scarecrow for support. It felt like he was standing in a small rowboat in the middle of a hurricane and was glad for the extra pair of legs to help him keep upright. “Well, I’m sorry. I’ve never been to the doctor in my life, for your information.”
Which was true. He didn’t even think that his mother bothered to go to the hospital when she had him. This, of course, made him feel terrible. He really didn’t like remembering her, the only thing he could picture were all the times he saw her getting beaten, and looking miserable. And not to forget her hanging over the edge of the tub with her wrists slit. He had been the one to find her, but he hadn’t called the police. He didn’t even know to dial 911. He didn’t even tell his step dad. He just sat there next to her body, not knowing what to do.
It was a horrible memory, which made him wince.
“Thanks… For helping me… Even though it was you who made me like this in the first place…”
He gave a cough, not knowing what else to say. He was talking to one of Batman’s enemies, who was helping him. Oh, if the Dark Knight just happened to swoop in here now, he’d thing that he was his accomplice or something. That would be BAD. All that time he looked up to him, and then he’d end up being beaten around by him.
Which then led to the question why Crane was helping him again. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as everyone thought. Maybe he was just misunderstood. A thought wormed its way into his head. Maybe he could help him, as in, actually make him a good guy? Or at least, stop him from hurting others. Maybe he’d have his second real friend!
Now he was getting ahead of himself, imagining all the possibilities. He didn’t want to make his mission just throwing people in jail, he actually wanted to help them, like Jenna had for him, by lending a hand.
-----
When Crane had calculated how long it would take to get to his emergency hideout, he had, of course, factored in the Hornet`s weight and his own unimpressive strength. But he hadn`t known it would take this much out of him just to help the boy walk a few steps. This was going to take a bit longer than he thought. Hopefully, but probably not, the full effects of the toxin would wear off on the way there.
But probably not.
His thoughts were interrupted by an incredulous statement from Hornet. Never been to the doctor? He eyed him skeptically, believing him, but slightly amazed at the thought. In this country, in this day and age, it was an amazing feat to never be brought to the doctor before. After that statement, he noticed odd emotions playing across the others face: sadness, fear, and horror. He wondered how, exactly, those emotions could be connected to never going to the doctor. His thoughts were, once again, interrupted by an odd thank you, and he had to fight back a smile. Then there was more emotions flickering past his face, and Johnathan just couldn`t help but watch them fly past, with just a bit of amusement.
Then they reached the door, and all that amusement vanished into thin air.
It was freaking cold. It had been warm enough in the warehouse for a man with a thick coat like himself, even with the hole in the roof, but the outside world was alot different compared to the warehouse. "Hornet, we`re going to have to walk around a mile to get to where we`re going. Are you going to be able to walk in this cold? You don`t have gloves or shoes on, or at least a coat." He told him, motioning with his slightly free hand to the Hornet`s clawed, bare hands and feet.
-----
Hornet just sighed, looking down at his clawed feet, noticing that he wasn’t standing on his toes, which was part of the problem of him not being able to walk. He straightened himself up, his height jumping two inches, then looked down at Crane. He shouldn’t be feeling too much of his weight anymore. If anything, he just needed to hold onto his arm to keep him balanced.
Hornet then put on a thoughtful look as he figured out what to do.
He knew he didn’t last long in the cold. Well, he couldn’t in a fight anyway. His movements would become slow and clumsy far faster than a normal human. He’s start becoming tired and stiff, then he’d keel over, pretty well frozen until warmer weather arrived, or someone brought him in from the cold. He also knew that his wings would become brittle and start chipping away at the ends. But a walk he could handle.
He might complain the whole way, but he’d get to where ever he was going. In fact, once he was about to walk by himself, he could perhaps carry Crane and then just run there. That would be easier. He was fast on his feet, and no obstacles stood a chance against him. He could even leap a 12’ fence without the use of his wings.
He wasn’t too sure that Scarecrow wanted to be carried, though. For some reason, men didn’t like it. Hornet was puzzled about that. He had zero social experience. Of course he didn’t know why.
He flexed his claws, examining how his flesh colored skin hardened and morphed into a sharp brown point. The hardened tissue/bone was impervious to cold. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything with them. They were like fingertips substituted for steel knifes. He hurriedly looked back at Scarecrow, not wanting to scrutinize his deformity further.
“I’m fine, I can handle it. At least it’s not snowing, huh?”
Sure it wasn’t snowing, but he would be glad to be indoors after the walk. Then get something to drink, then go to sleep. He’d sleep on the floor of the warehouse if he didn’t know that Crane would probably pester him into coming with him.
-----
Johnathan watched the Hornet`s changes curiously. Being a doctor, he was interested, rather than disgusted. Not that he could really tell what, exactly, had changed, without his glasses; all he knew was that the Hornet had gotten taller (Crane supposed he was just standing up straighter), and that the hand on his shoulder was alot pointier. That most of Hornet`s weight was gone was a blessing, too; his body wasn`t made for carrying people around.
He shifted his weight, shivering a bit in the cold that creeped through his coat, then turned his head to listen to what the other was saying. Those extra two inches were starting to bother him, mostly because he wasn`t used to being shorter than other people. So the moment the Hornet stopped talking, he started walking briskly, using his long legs to his advantage. He hauled the Hornet after him, knowing that some of his balance depended on him, and unless he wanted to fall over, he would walk quickly, too.
The Scarecrow was, for once, glad it was night-time. There were no birds out, most of the alleys were deserted (except for a few thugs, who scattered when they saw who was coming), and it was easier to hide, because both of them were wearing a large amount of black. With Crane pushing them, they arrived in the abandoned part of the city fairly quickly. Much of the street was overgrown with trees, bushes, and all kinds of other plants, making most of the houses look eerie in the foggy moonlight. Crane stopped them in front of a smaller house, leaving Hornet by a dead tree while he crouched down and reached through a thorny-looking bush, pulling two doors covered in grass and the afore-mentioned bush open.
Down some wooden, rickety looking steps was a metal-plated room with checkered tile on the floor, with a battery-operated fridge, a heater, beakers and test-tubes on the counters, and various other things, including a comfy chair that looked like it had blood stains all over it. The Scarecrow walked back over to the tree and motioned torwards the open doors.
"You`ll have to go in there first. I`ll need to close the doors behind us. Please don`t touch anything that`s laying out because it might be dangerous, but there is water in the fridge, and a cot in the corner."
-----
It was cold outside, but not as much as he had been expecting. It seemed like it was only in the lower fifties, or perhaps the upper forties. Still, he didn’t like it. Already he could feel his body reacting to it, stiffening and quivering from the low temperature. He’d have to talk to Jenna about designing a costume with sleeves on it next time he saw her. In the meantime, though, he’d have to live with it. As long as he didn’t encounter any body that had a freeze gun or anything (Ha, how ridiculous, who ever heard of such a thing?), he would be fine. Once Winter finally rolled into Gotham, though, he’d have to consider going into hibernation or something; put this hero business on hold until it warmed up again. Which meant either staying with Jenna for the winter, or staying with his stepfather.
He cringed at the idea. Most likely he’d pull out his wings again. Of all the injuries that he had received from his stepfather, the tearing out of his wings was the worst. He actually yanked out part of the muscle that held it in and enabled him to move them… And it hurt. He wouldn’t be surprised if the whole neighborhood heard his screams and cries. That was the only time his stepfather had been able to get a noise out of him when beating him.
Of course, the wings grew back, and he could now somewhat use them. He hadn’t tried to fly yet. They had a habit of giving up on him in the most precarious of times because he hadn’t exercised them. What was the point of practicing when his stepfather was likely to yank them out again? Besides, he was quite comfortable walking on the ground.
Speaking of walking, he hadn’t realized how long Crane’s legs were, and he didn’t know that he was so proficient in speed walking. If he wasn’t waling on the balls of his feet, and using his little hopping gait, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up. Hornet kept one hand clamped on Crane’s upper arm, though he concentrated on not letting his claws come anywhere close to poking him or cutting him in any way. He doubted he would appreciate being injured by the one he really /didn‘t/ have to save.
Hornet frequently looked up at the night sky, not deterred by the fact that it was partially hidden by smog and some clouds. He was happy that the moon was shining, and suddenly had the urge just to fly away, to anywhere, really. Just to be in the air. But he shoved the thought back to the back of his mind and instead looked back down at what was in front of him.
He just watched as low-level scum just seemed to scurry away like rats under a searchlight, looking down at Scarecrow each time, wondering if they ran away because he gave them a look, or if they were running away just because they saw him coming, because he knew they definitely weren’t running from him.
Tree limbs seemed to reach out like clawed hands, much like his own. Leaves scattered around the street whenever a gentle breeze drifted down the asphalt. Everything seemed overgrown and… Well… Dead. Like the place was a graveyard or something.
Then Crane directed him to sit down next to a tree and left him to go rummage around in some bushes. He was only half interested in what the Scarecrow was doing. He rested his head against the rough bark of the tree, gazing up at the moss dangling down from it’s many arms. His own claws scratched nervously at the dirt until Crane came back after revealing a hidden door behind the bushes.
Hornet used the tree to drag himself into a standing position, his knees and ankles not wanting to bend. He reached out for Crane’s shoulder to steady himself, then walked down the steps, feeling them seem to warp under his weight. His toes clicked against the tile, making small scratches in it. He paused at the bottom of the stairs to look around, locating the cot in the corner. He stumbled over to it and laid down on his stomach, breathing a sigh of relief.
It felt so good to be off his feet and in the semi-warmth. His legs and feet were aching. He didn’t think he could get up again, which was a shame because he was still thirsty... With a groan he rolled over onto his side and looked over at the fridge with longing.
-----
After closing the wooden doors to the cellar, he pranced down the stairs, the steps barely making any noise under his slight weight. Most of the badly-lit room was blurry; he could kind of make out Hornet laying on the cot. Either that, or it had suddenly grew something big and red and blobby. That would be a disgusting looking mold, right there. Fishing around in his pocket for his glasses, he opened the fridge, pleased to see it was still working. The store he had stolen the battery from said it was good for a few months. So far, it`d been working even longer than that.
Maybe he`d give the store a thank-you present?
He chuckled at the idea, much more relaxed in a closed off space like this one than he was in the streets, or even in the warehouse. He picked up a water bottle by it`s top, twisting the white cap off, then practically danced over to Hornet, handing him the water bottle carefully, trying not to spill it.
This place, the one haven the Scarecrow had in the city, was also the only place where he could relax. Anywhere else he went always had the risk of being infiltrated by Batman, or being attacked by some other, rather annoying pest (and also the foreboding threat of birds). Here, he was completely safe, and it showed in the way he acted.
He strode over to the heater, also with a battery stolen from the same store as the other one, and turned it on, careful to keep it at a temperature so that the various flammable chemicals on the counter wouldn`t explode (in fact, that was the whole reason the walls were made out of metal. Wouldn`t want your sanctuary catching on fire). He cautiously placed a few of the tubes in the freezer, and meticulously did whatever needed to be done with the rest, either pouring them down a drain located next to the counter, or just simply putting them away in various cabinets. After he did all this, he turned to the Hornet. "Can you eat anything?" He asked, quickly striding over to the one cabinet that didn`t hold some dangerous chemical. "All I have is dried food, and some vegetables in a can, if you`re up to eating anything." He looked back at the Hornet, finally finding his glasses in a small pocket on his pants (thank god they weren`t broken), and putting them on. He made a disapproving noise suddenly, closing the cabinet and eyeing the Hornet. "Actually, what you need right now more than food is sleep." He fussed in a doctor-like tone, mildly angry at himself for not noticing the full extent of the other man`s impairment. "You`re on top of the blanket right now, but please be careful not to rip it. I can repair it, but not very well, and it will take up much of my time. And if you wake up when I`m not here, or if I`m asleep, you`re free to help yourself to the food, or leave, if you`re healthy enough to do so. If you I find that you have either tampered with my chemicals or personal belongings, or have tried to harm me in some way and left, I will track you down and make you regret doing so." His tone had changed from one a doctor might use to one a parent talking to their child might use. After the warning, he pranced over to a rather large bookshelf, as far away as possible from the chemical counter, picked out a book at random, and sat down in the (obviously stolen) maroon and red chair.
"Now go to sleep, please. When you wake up, the effects of the toxin should be gone. I give you my word that I will not harm you while you are unconscious, though it is your choice whether to believe that or not." After that, he opened his book and proceeded to pretend to read, actually looking at Hornet out of the corner of his eye.
The boy`s body interested him; nothing carnal, like his shape or anything, but rather his wings and claws. He was sure it would be a treat to see him fly (as long as he had his glasses on). He was tempted to walk over and touch them, a very childish impulse for him, but he was sure the Hornet wouldn`t really like a villain that had killed multiple people just randomly walking over and poking his wings.
Maybe he`d do it when the boy was asleep...?
-----
It was entertaining watching Scarecrow prance around, though Hornet didn’t blame him. He was a wanted criminal, this was probably the only place he felt safe in the whole city. That was an amusing thought. A villain afraid of being out on the streets. It was almost depressing to Hornet, like it somehow wasn’t natural. It was like it wall was a matter of balance; evil was out at night, good in the day. Now, with good out on the streets at night, the criminals were finding refuge while the sun was out. He doubted that Batman stopped his crime fighting during the day, however. He was still probably out there, still watching and waiting.
As Crane galloped down the stairs like an overexcited fawn just learning to walk, he couldn’t help but let a small smile slip onto his face as he lay on his side, head propped up with one hand. He seemed to be happy, which strangely made Hornet glad as well. Crane seemed to be fishing around for something in his pocket, and it occurred to him that Scarecrow might have a vision problem. He seemed to have been squinting a lot.
Even as he fumbled around in his pocket, he went over to the mini fridge and rummaged around for water, most likely. He pulled out a bottle of water and strode over to him and handed him the plastic container. Hornet sat up and accepted the bottle gratefully, then proceeded to drink down a quarter of the bottle in four large gulps. Almost instantly he felt better, now that he had gotten some sort of liquid into his system.
Without waiting for a thank-you, Crane spun on his heel and fiddled with the heater, warmth flooding the room. Hornet’s wings lifted slightly as they sought out the warmth. They already had small cracks on the very ends from being in the cold that short while. Hornet was just glad they hadn’t cracked away.
He watched for a minute, taking small sips from his water as Crane scurried about the room, putting away test tubes and cleaning them out. The tinkling of glass reminded Hornet of a wind chime. The only time he’d ever heard one was when Jenna had one hanging out on the fire escape, but a week later it disappeared, probably stolen.
Crane brought Hornet’s attention back to him suddenly as he spoke to him.
Eating? Hornet really wasn’t in the mood. In fact, he had eaten just before he got on the computer at Jenna’s house, so he wouldn’t be hungry for a while. He took another small swallow of water, then looked back at Crane, noticing how much cuter (Okay, cuter was the wrong word, he thought, but he couldn’t think of anything else) he looked with them on. Well, to him he looked better anyway. The doctor suddenly changed his mind to him eating, anyway, and insisted he sleep. That he could agree with. He could practically feel the bags that must be under his eyes, and his body felt like it had been injected with lead.
Until, of course, Crane mentioned something about ripping up his only blanket, which made Hornet just a tad depressed, and suddenly the need to sleep left him. Always, /always/ he had to be reminded of his deformities. He hung his head slightly, though to Scarecrow it probably just looked like he was exhausted.
Leaving wasn’t really an option, either. It was either stay here or go back to his stepfathers. As long as Crane permitted him to stay, anyway. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to be here, though. But as long as nothing seriously illegal went on in front of him, he’d be happy to stay. As for touching /anything/ here, that was last on his list of things to do, along with dying.
Hornet’s eyes followed Crane as he selected a book off the bookshelf then sat down in an armchair and proceeded to start reading. He just stared at him, thinking, letting his head tilt to one side slightly. Was it him, or was Crane pretending to read and just looking at him from over the very edge of the book…?
Then he realized. Of course, he was looking at his wings. The expression on his face was carefully masked, but Hornet could tell it was a look of interest, not disgust. One of his wings lifted up another inch, and then lowered slowly two.
“You want to… See them?” He asked. Well, why not, Crane was obviously fascinated with them. Besides, what harm could he do? As long as he didn’t yank on them, he was fine. Hey, and while he was at it, he could even look at his claws. Hornet was pleased to know that someone other than Jenna didn’t mind is irregularities.
“You can touch them, or whatever you want… It’s not like I bite. In fact, back at the warehouse… I don’t think I could have even knocked you out. Seems too violent.”
That was the truth. He probably would have found something to tie him up with, or if that failed, just dragged him to Arkham or to the police or something. IF he hadn’t had Crane’s mask practically shoved up his nose. That wasn’t very fun.
-----
Crane looked up at him from the book, wiping the mask off of his face, revealing his full interest. He eyed Hornet, looking for any doubt; he would keep away and play it off, if he found any. You didn`t really want to scare off the thing that interested you, after all. When he didn`t find any (and being a one-time psychiatrist, he was fairly good at finding hidden emotions), he got off the chair and sat down on the floor next to the Hornet, giving him enough time to change his mind, if he wanted to, and enough room to feel comfortable.
When the boy said nothing, he cautiously traced his hand on the outline of the Hornet`s right wing, marveling at how thin it was. The full brunt of his attention was on the wing, but he kept an eye on the Hornet`s body language and face, ready to back off at the slightest sign of discomfort. At the moment though, all eyes were on the wings.
To a scientist like Crane, they were beautiful, an almost exact copy of wasp or hornets (while he had never really studied bugs, you kind of picked these things up through your life). You could see the veins, and near the joint where it met with the back, even though it was slightly obscured by the boys body, Crane could see the muscle that made them move. He tugged gently on the top of the wing, acting like it was the frailest thing on earth, because it felt mildly brittle (he could even see a few cracks on the edges now that he had his glasses on, though they looked like they were going away), and he didn`t want to risk breaking them. He was rewarded with a movement from the muscle, and a better view of the veins in the wings.
After a few minutes of studying the wings, he abandoned them for some of Hornet`s other features, mainly, the claws on his hands and feet. Still, he didn`t want to risk offending the boy (this wasn`t a dead test subject under a microscope, he reminded himself). "Thank you for letting me look at your wings." He said kindly, a much different figure than the one in the warehouse. "They`re beautiful, if you don`t mind me saying so. Would you mind if I looked at your claws?" He put his hands in his lap and waited, the perfect picture of a docile schoolboy, complete with glasses.
-----
It seemed like Crane just simply teleported in front of him, he moved so fast. A smirk slipped on Hornet’s face at him nearly stumbling over himself just to get closer, but he also noticed that the other made every possible chance for him to refuse. He was still cautious of him… Or was it because he didn’t want to hurt him, or make him uncomfortable? Hornet wasn’t really sure, but he appreciated it none the less. Hornet just simply shifted slightly and stretched out one wing for him to access.
Crane’s fingers seem to barely brush against his wings, like he trailed a feather across instead. When he pulled his wing up slighter, Hornet simply closed his eyes and tilted his head forward. The only thing he thought his wings brought him was pain., but this was different. Having Crane practically stroke his wings like that, he really didn’t mind how long he wanted to do it. He was even disappointed when the other pulled back.
Hornet opened his eyes slightly, making some sort of distressed noise as Crane’s hands left him, then slowly let out the breath he was holding out his nose. His wings were beautiful? He never thought of them like that, but not that he thought about it, he guessed that someone might see them that way.
Hornet slowly slid off the edge of the bed and sat down in front of Crane, holding out his hands, face down.
“Of course you can,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Now that he was looking fully at Crane with undivided attention, he could now say that, yes, he did look cute. He didn’t understand how anyone could think he was dangerous. If anyone saw him now, they would have thought that he was perfect sane, a very nice person.
Well, that was Hornet’s opinion, anyway.
-----
The noise that Hornet had made when Crane`s hands had left his wings had made him freeze for a moment, his body completely still for a few seconds before his brain started up again. He smoothly covered it up, and watched Hornet sit down in front of him impassively, while in reality he was trying, and just barely succeeding, at keeping his face as expressionless as possible. What had elicited that noise? He fought back a shudder, instead trying to distract himself by taking one of Hornet`s hands and studying it.
He had liked that noise more than he was comfortable with, and their close proximity, their knees almost touching, wasn`t helping the fact. He trailed his fingers softly over the boys harder ones, deep in thought. He turned it over on it`s back and spread the fingers out carefully, working over the Hornet`s hand in a slow and soft manner, his blue eyes taking on a faraway look. His fingers rubbed the tip of his middle finger, testing how sharp it was, before flinching away. They were extremely sharp.
The pain, already gone, interrupted his thoughts, and he hesitated before he went back to the Hornet`s hands. He wasn`t afraid he`d get hurt again; he was more worried at what the contact was doing to his senses. Even the best psychiatrist, cold and removed from his patients, was still human. He kept his bright blue eyes, now completely focused, directed at his hands, and away from the Hornet`s face. Maybe the boy wouldn`t notice anything, and after this (because curiosity came before his well-being, in his mind), he could stay as far away, at least mentally, from the Hornet as possible? This was getting too close for comfort, no matter how much he liked it.
-----
Hornet wished, longed for the ability to feel. The part of his hands that had turned to bone could not experience the feeling of Crane’s fingers on his. They’re nerves were buried deep under the hard material, and the palm of his hand had that the scar on it had no feeling any more, either. Even the back of his hand had little sensation to them. It pained him now, when it hadn’t really bothered him before, because he had never wanted to touch anyone. He was too afraid to.
And the reason was because they were sharp, as Crane just found out. Hornet winced as the other practically sliced the tip of his finger open. He wanted to pull his hand away so he couldn’t hurt him, but after a second Crane continued examining his hand. Still feeling a little guilty, he used his other free hand to take Crane’s and held it up to his face, searching for any sign of blood or slice in the skin.
He made sure to hold the other’s hand with the base of his fingers, so the sharp tips were as far away as possible from the other’s flesh. He had never really been this close to a person before, in such an intimate way. He didn’t mind leaning on Crane’s shoulder before, but that was different from this. They were in a small room, where no one else knew where they were. Plus, they were practically in each other’s laps…
Hornet brushed that thought quickly away. Why would he even imagine that? Hornet’s gaze lifted to Crane’s face, who was busy keeping his face as impassive as possible, keeping his eyes averted from the other’s. Were the same thoughts running through the other’s head as well?
He placed Crane’s hand in the other’s lap and then lifted his chin with the side of one finger, once again making sure to keep the point away from his face.
“You know… You’re the second person to not care about my looks, but the first to take interest in them.”
That was significant to Hornet. While Jenna did treat him like any other human being, that’s exactly what he wasn’t. While he appreciated Jenna totally for what she’d done for him, he wished that someone would accept him, all of him, for what he was, instead of pretending half of it didn’t exist.
-----
When Hornet had taken his hand, inspecting it for a wound, he looked away from the fridge (which had suddenly looked very interesting), and looked over at the boy across from him, studying his face. He had been surprised, but not as surprised as when his hand was returned to him, and his face was lifted up by one of the fingers he had just been studying earlier. He locked eyes with the Hornet, his mind hearing but not really registering what the Hornet said. When it finally caught up with him, he, for once in his life, couldn`t gather his thoughts enough to think of anything to say. "Well, they are very interesting." He replied lamely, trying to make his brain focus on what was happening, trying to make his body respond to what he was telling it to do.
He wasn`t supposed to be stroking the side of the boys face.
He wasn`t supposed to be leaning in like that.
He wasn`t supposed to be pressing his lips to the Hornet`s, even if they were much softer than he had thought.
This night hadn`t turned out at all like the thought it would have.
-----
Hornet took the whole scene as if he was in an audience, watching through someone else’s eyes. This couldn’t be happening, could it? He could feel the other’s fingers caressing his cheek, even though it didn’t feel like he was there. His breath caught in his chest as Crane’s face seemed to be getting closer… Closer…
And then they kissed.
And Hornet was back in his body, a shocked look on his face. He really didn’t know what to do, but he didn’t want it to stop. Slowly, ever so slowly, he exhaled and shut his eyes. No, he didn’t want this moment to end. Without his knowledge, on of his hands slipped over to Crane’s side and stayed there, while his other moved to his waist, trying to pull him closer.
He still didn’t understand that what was happening was wrong, not only because they were on opposite sides, but because they were both /men/, and men should not be doing what they were doing. Even so, something in the back of his mind told him that this shouldn’t be going on, so he was the first to pull away, and the first to take his hands off the other. He didn’t want to leave the other, but his body forced him to do it.
“I’m… I’m really sorry. I mean, that shouldn’t have happened. I mean… I’m really sorry.”
In all seriousness, he really did think the whole ordeal had been his fault. He just sat there, his arms pressed against his own chest and his head down, as if afraid he’d be the one to touch the other next time. His face had the most distressed look on it, half because he was embarrassed, the other half because he realized he just wanted to pin the other down and start nipping at his beautiful neck…
ARG! He shouldn’t be thinking like that! He didn’t know why, but he shouldn’t be thinking like that. In fact, he was going ot apologize again for thinking like that.
“I’m sorry.”
Poor, confused little Hornet.
-----
To Crane this little moment was heaven on earth, his lips pressed against Hornets, his body seeming to mold onto the others. When Hornet had broken away, one of his hands had found it`s way to the back of the boys head, the other pressed against his chest. When the touching stopped, he instinctively moved his hands away, pressing them into his lap. They wanted to touch, to roam all over the others body, and it was obvious that wasn`t what the other needed right then.
Crane was a little dazed, still lost in the magic that was, sadly, his first kiss, but he was conscious enough to listen to what the Hornet was saying. The boy was distressed; that much was obvious. But what to do? Still not thinking very clearly, he reached out with one of the hands he had thought was restrained, dancing across the Hornets forehead, and running through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. "Shhh, Hornet, it`s all right." Someone sounding strangely like himself cooed. Wait, was that him? "There`s nothing to be sorry about, Hornet. It`s all right. There`s nothing wrong." He moved so that he was next to him, Crane`s mind following behind sluggishly as his body took control. Still murmuring soft words, he wrapped his arms around the boys larger frame, his body reacting to the Hornets distress in the only way it knew how. Contact.
-----
Never, never, had he felt like this before. It was exhilarating, yet a little intimidating at the same time. With Crane’s arms around him, he relaxed and leaned into him, letting his arms drop limply, his hands no longer clenched. Maybe he had just needed some reassurance that everything was fine with this.
His head turned to the side to look at the other, his green eyes half closed. It was like he was an oversized house cat. If he could be purring at that moment, he would be. He could fall asleep in the other’s arms while being scratched behind the ears.
One of his hands raised to his forehead, the tips of his claws running along he same path Crane’s had, then carefully gripped his goggles and pulled them off his head. Without the protective eyewear holding this hair back, some of it fell down onto his forehead, some of the longer strands falling into his eyes. His other arm reached around Crane and held him tight against him.
“Well… um… If there’s… nothing wrong… Do you think we, uh, could.. Um… Kiss again?”
He could barely choke the request out. What had he just /asked/? Where the heck did he get the guts to say anything like that? Hornet’s face seemed to grow redder and redder each passing second, until he finally turned his head away, staring at the wall.
Jonathan Crane Co-Admin Master of Fright[M:0] member is offline
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Joined: Aug 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 31 Location: Under yer bed :D Karma: 5
Re: Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] « Reply #1 on Aug 17, 2008, 3:02pm »
Crane let a lazy smile drift across his face, one hand taking full advantage of the newly-freed hair, the other still wrapped around the Hornet`s frame, keeping him pressed against him the same way he was being held with one of the boys hands. He had never felt like this before, so safe and warm and content...
He pressed his lips against the Hornet`s, obeying his request, and marveling at the feeling that went along with kissing the boy. He moved his mouth down the Hornet`s face, kissing along his chin, then moving down to his neck. His mind had long since stopped trying to catch up; his body was acting completely on instinct. The hand that had been in the Hornet`s (still very, very soft) hair had moved onto the boys wings, some part of him wondering if he could make him make that wonderful noise again. He nipped at the boys neck, unknowingly taking his earlier idea, stroking his wings at the same time, ever cautious and gentle.
-----
With a small click, Hornet set his goggles down on the floor and placed his now free hand on the other’s leg, carefully, and ever so softly, running his thumb up and down his pants. His eyes were back on Crane now, the flush that had been creeping across his face disappearing. Was this the first time Crane had given a real smile? He didn’t know, nor did he care a the moment. His eyes fully shut as Crane’s lips were against his again, then traveling across his chin and down his neck. His head tilted to the side automatically, giving him more skin to nibble on.
He felt the hand that Crane had been using to stroke his head moved down his back and started caressing his wing, and couldn’t quite catch the whimper of pleasure that slipped out. The arm around Crane held him tighter, and the hand on his leg quit moving and just simply stayed put. He rested his head on Crane’s shoulder, breathing heavily and keeping himself from moaning.
-----
Crane smirked into the Hornet`s skin, grazing his teeth along the soft flesh on the other`s neck as it moved downwards, nipping and kissing all the way. He shivered when he heard the quiet noise, and continued stroking the wing, trying to elicit more of those wonderful noises from the boy. The movement of the hand on his leg made his mouth pause in it`s movements, a sharp intake of breath the only sign it affected him before the movement stopped, and the Hornet`s head was on his shoulder. He tugged at the ear presented to him playfully, before moving downwards again to play with the skin behind the afore-mentioned ear. The hand that had been still on the Hornet`s lower back started moving, Crane really having no control over it as it explored everything it could reach, tracing the other wing, trailing down the boys side, heading slowly downwards in it`s exploration.
Some part of Crane`s mind, way in the back, started panicking a little. Would they really go there? The rest of his body and mind ignored that little part; it would happen if it would happen, and if it didn`t, oh, well.
-----
Hornet let Crane continue, either unwilling or unable to move, breath, speak… He had abandoned trying to hold back his moans, and was making whatever sounds came out of his mouth at will, not concerned at all about it. The hand on Crane’s thigh tightened its grip as he played with his ear and the sensitive spot behind it. Crane’s other hand, which he had forgotten all about, was now moving, moving across his other wing, moving down his side, traveling farther and farther down.
He wanted to know where it was going, but he wasn’t in the mood to concentrate on any one thing, so instead he started sucking at the nape of Crane’s neck. He wished he could do more, but he was still afraid that his nails would scratch or cut the other. That would put a stop to this little encounter, if anything else would. In fact, just the thought of it made Hornet pull back. He was ever so cautious of others. If he thought that something he was doing put them in harms way, he stopped immediately.
“I… Can’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The arm that was wrapped around Crane was removed and he held up his claws in front of the other’s face.
“I wish… that this couldn’t stop… But…” He paused… “If only I didn’t have…”
He let out a sigh and stood, grabbing his goggles and using the bed to help himself up. His talons clicked on the tile as he tapped his foot once, thinking, a pained expression on his face.
“We shouldn’t have done that. At all. I mean… The next time I see you… I’ll have to give you to the police. Or someone.”
He cringed at the thought, then shuffled toward the stairs, his wings drooping. He couldn’t trust himself to stay here. He’d just stop by Jenna’s house, change, then stay at his step-father’s home. All he had to do is hid in his bedroom without alerting his father as to his presence. And if he did... Well, he'd just stay at Jenna's, licking his wounds until they healed, then he'd be out and about again.
At the foot of the stairs, Hornet turned back to Crane.
"My real name's Hunter, by the way," he said. "Maybe... If you would stop... trying to hurt people... We could be friends."
-----
Crane made a small whimpering noise when the Hornet started sucking on his neck, one that quickly turned into something akin to a kitten`s mewl when the other started detangling himself. Crane was suddenly on the floor, and cold, and he couldn`t understand what the boy was saying. Then his neglected brain went into action, and it all clicked together when a set of extremely sharp claws were put in front of his face.
Hornet was afraid of hurting him.
He watched him quietly, with a confused, pained look on his face, his frazzled brain trying to piece together what all of those movements meant. Then it dawned on him, and his eyes widened in fear.
The Hornet wasn`t just stopping what they had been doing; he was leaving.
He tried to get to his feet, but his treacherous body kept him on the ground, forced to only watch as Hornet turned for the stairs, saying something about how, if he ever saw him again, he would be forced to turn him in to the police. He was right, and it pained him to know that what they had, what they could have had, could never be. He looked to the wall, cursing himself in his mind. He turned his eyes back to the Hornet when he spoke, trying to capture the boys form in his mind so that he could remember it, because he knew he would never see him again.
Then he spoke his name, and he could feel what little control he had slipping.
"Well, Hunter, I wish you happiness in whatever you do, and I hope you forget this, and carry on with your life." He said this softly, knowing that it would carry across the small space of the cellar, and that if he had spoken any louder, it would have betrayed all these feelings raging inside of him. At least like this, he looked completely calm.
And then the doors of the cellar closed shut behind the Hunter...
And he cried.
-----
Cold air blasted him in the face as he stepped out into the night, clawing, biting, ripping apart whatever skin was not covered. Hornet paused and slipped on his goggles, pulling whatever hair was caught underneath them, then slid the plastic eyewear over his eyes. The world around him suddenly took on a greenish tint. His body shook, but not from the cold. It was because every step he took forced him farther and farther from the man he was leaving behind.
But his legs persisted, while the rest of his body and mind screamed at him to go back, to run back to Crane, crying and apologizing, swearing never to leave him again.
The sky overhead had turned overcast, and the temperature seemed to have dropped considerably since the last time he had been out. What was worse was that there was no one here lending him warmth anymore. His wings were quivering. His feet actually ached. His arms were tightly crossed across his chest, his own claws digging into his skin like hypodermic needles. His face was blank.
Inside, though, he was a violent storm of emotions. Maybe when he was inside, alone, he would be able to finally succumb to them, but for now, he had other things to worry about. After many, many minutes of walking, he seemed to find himself amongst taller buildings, climbing to at least twenty stories high. He was walking on pavement, and his body was numb from the cold. Trash cans and dumpsters passed him left and right as he wandered aimlessly around and through alleys.
Suddenly, he found his path blocked buy a hulking mass of human, and he had to look up to see his face.
“Looks like you took a wrong turn. Why don’t you hand over your wallet and I’ll show you the way home, little kid.”
Hornet knew that barely any light was able to get into the alley from the street lamps, so he wasn’t so surprised that the man couldn’t see what he was, and that it was highly improbable that he had a wallet, so he decided to set the facts straight.
“I’m just going home, I don’t have anything on me. Please leave me alone.”
Hornet turned, only so catch the glint of a knife in front of him before pain exploded in his stomach and he doubled over, gasping for breath. There had been another that had sneaked up behind him. The mountain man behind him wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to keep him from falling forwards as the smaller man in front extracted his knife, grinning sadistically.
“You hear that, Burney? He just wants to go home.”
“And he actually has manners.”
Hornet’s face changed suddenly, contorting in rage. What did he do to these people? They were sick. How dare they do this to him. He wasn’t going to let them get away with this.
“Yes, I did have manners. Until you stabbed me. Now I’m going to kill you,” he stated simply, before he reached back behind his head and grabbed onto the arm that was holding his neck. There the noise of skin tearing and a yell, and the arm vanished, the man behind backing away. A foot long spike had embedded itself into his forearm, sticking out the other side.
The first man gripped his arm and let out a howl of pain and shock.
The second man attacked in a panic.
Hornet’s other hand shot out and slashed out at the knife, and it flew through the air, a long with something else.
“You- You! My finger! My god dam-”
Once again Hornet slashed out at him, this time his hand in a fist, and slugged him right in the side of the face, sending him into the side of a dumpster. At the same time, the first man had recovered and sent a fist right between his wings.
Hornet was thrown forward, but he held his hands out and used to the forward motion to front flip back onto his feet. He turned just in time to duck as the other’s huge hand soared over his head. He clawed at his uninjured arm, then sidestepped and jumped easily onto the guy’s shoulder and crashed both of his hands over the other’s ears, then back flipped onto the ground.
The first man, his balance gone along with his hearing temporarily, stumbled to the side, his head cracking against the brick wall of the alley, then fell over.
The air hung heavily as Hornet surveyed the unconscious man, then turned to the other, smaller one who was cowering against eh dumpster, holding his hand. Blood ran down his arm.
And Hornet just smirked.
Spreading his wings, he jumped into the air and flew up to the top of the building next to him and set down on the roof to recover himself.
-----
For the whole hour Hunter had been gone, Crane had sitting on the floor, his head resting on the cot, tears streaming down his face as he stared up at the ceiling. He was quiet completely quiet except for a few sniffles every few minutes, his tired brain slowly processing everything that had happened tonight, and filing it away in his brain. Near the end of the hour, he had stopped crying, just watching the ceiling, unnaturally still. Then, suddenly, he got up, his face eerily calm, and his movements precise and clipped.
He had made up his mind.
He was going to find Hunter, and convince him to stay with him, some way, somehow.
He strode over to the cabinet that housed his chemicals, reaching behind a group of beakers for a bland brown box with a tiny silver lock on the front. He closed the cabinet doors, then walked over to the fridge, opening the freezer door and taking out a tiny key, hidden on top of the ice maker. He unlocked the box and replaced the key, closing the freezer first before opening the box. Inside was large group of vials, all filled with an odd-looking green glass.
Fear toxin.
When the vials broke, and the toxin was exposed to air, it would turn into a gas. This toxin was one of his first; it wasn`t lethal, but it lasted a long time, but was, thankfully, one of the types that Crane was immune to. He took four vials (because you never know what you`ll meet out there on the streets), closed the box, and replaced it, so that it was invisible again. Then he was out the door, and into the dark Gotham night.
----
He arrived at the city faster than he had thought he would have. It had only taken a few minutes, but even those few minutes meant that Hunter was even farther away.
It was cold, colder than it had been earlier, but it still wasn`t anything his trenchcoat couldn`t block out. That, plus the fact that it was the middle of the night, meant that very few people were out, and they weren`t the type of people you`d want to meet in a dark alley. Still, he kept to the shadows, keeping out of sight, looking for anything that might have meant that Hunter had gone through.
He found it sooner than expected.
Two men, one moaning on the ground, the other propped up against the dumpster, were talking to each other, cursing and yelling rather loudly. The one on the ground seemed to have something very large and white sticking out of his arm, and was probably what he was complaining about. The other had scratches all over his arms. Bingo.
Unbeknownst to the Hornet, Crane had extra bullets in his coat-pocket. He fished out his mask and put it on, reloading his gun quickly and quietly while the two men complained and moaned.
Then he stepped out of the shadows, and their words quickly turned into screams.
----
After he got all the useful information he could out of the two men, he quickly disposed of them, leaving them with a scream in their throats and a bullet in their skulls. He would have like to do more, but he didn`t want to waste time on them, no matter what they had done to Hornet. At the moment, his priority was finding the boy, and he was going to stay true to that.
Scarecrow had expected it to be much harder to find out where the Hornet had gone; more skulking around, more killings, just more searching in general. But the one guy that hadn`t been knocked out when Hornet had left had given him some pretty good directions, in between the screams. That, and a faint trail of blood, on and off, lead him to an apartment complex`s fire escape. Again, it probably would have been harder to find had it not been for an open window, and a particularly helpful man. He knew the Hornet wouldn`t be happy if he ever found out, but he hadn`t really killed the man. He`d just be having some pretty nasty nightmares for a while.
He climbed easily up the fire escape, scaling it quietly as he reached the partly-opened window. He looked through the window first, not wanting to waste the last two vials he had left on an escape attempt. But it was dark, and from what he could tell, no one seemed to be awake. He climbed through it, his lanky body keeping him from getting stuck in the opening, and from making any noise when he landed on the ground. He was inside a bedroom; a woman was sleeping in a bed in the corner, facing away from him. He quietly walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway, quickly going through all of the rooms to see if Hornet was here, or if there was anybody else living with the woman. He didn`t find anybody, but in the bathroom sink he found a pile of bloody clothing, that proved to be the Hornet`s when he looked closer. So, he had been here, but wasn`t anymore. He walked back into the woman`s bedroom, going through different plans he had thought up that involved getting information out of her, but not leaving any lasting effects, when he saw the note taped to the back of the door.
It was from Hunter, being the same worrier he had been in the short time Crane had been with him. It also stated that he was going to his step-father`s house. He walked torwards the woman on the bed, his eyes on the note, instead of where he was going, when he ran into something (possibly a lamp), and it crashed onto the floor, making a large breaking noise. He froze, then looked at the woman, thankful that he didn`t have his mask on. She would obviously freak out, having a stranger in her house, but that would be better than having the Scarecrow in your house.
Hopefully she didn`t have a gun under her bed, or anything.
Hunter obviously cared for her (was that a twinge of jealousy he felt?), and he didn`t want to hurt her.
-----
Hornet sat down on the roof, looking down at his stomach, where blood had soaked through the front of his costume and was running down his leg. The wound seemed small, located near his right side. He couldn’t really feel it either, he figured it was because he was so pumped up from his fight. He considered if he had been too hard on the two, knowing that hurting them so badly wasn’t what he was suppose to do, but he threw out the notion. He didn’t care. Just /didn’t/ care about them at all.
He stood up again, now wincing as a twinge of pain spread along his abdomen, then walked to the very edge of the roof, looking out at the city. Ah, now he remembered where he was.
He stood there, the cold air still gnawing at him, but he didn’t care. His body was mending itself, he could feel it. He didn’t care about his stab wound anymore. He didn’t care about anything except for the air around him. He didn’t care about anything except what he was going to attempt to do.
His wings rose up, then started beating, and he crouched slightly. Waiting, working up the courage. Of one thing could go right tonight, please let it be this.
He jumped.
…
And he was still in the air. His back ached. From the excoriation and from the punch. But he didn’t mind it. No pain, no gain. He knew he couldn’t keep it up for long. Maybe a few blocks. The distance was shortening rapidly. He concentrated on the wind, the feeling of flying, how the wind pressed against his wings, how he could manipulate it to his own purpose…
And then he dropped, luckily onto a rood top below him.
His landing wasn’t very good though. He fell face first and skidded across the length of the roof straight to the other side, but he was on his feet before he registered pain, dancing on his toes.
He did it! He did it! Maybe not for long or far, but he did it! He turned into a circle, looking for someone to brag to, but then his wings dropped and so did his gaze, realizing no one was there. At least, o one that he cared about.
He could see Jenna’s fire escape window right across from him, so he jumped the five foot gap onto her level and pulled up the window quietly, his claws silently finding carpet. He’d only be in for a moment. Just to change, and maybe clean up his wound. He closed the window halfway behind him and went to the small second bedroom, pulling out some normal clothes from the drawer, then headed into the bathroom.
There, he pulled off his shirt and pants, then hopped in the shower just long enough to clean himself off, then changed, first putting his wings into the holes he had cut out of the back of the shirt. He filled the sink up with soapy water and threw in his bloody clothes, wincing at the thought of Jenna coming in the next morning and seeing that.
So he walked out of the bathroom, shutting off the light behind him, and walked to the kitchen counter, pulling out a pen and notepad from one of the drawers, and wrote her a quick note.
"Jenna-
Just got back in. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I think I’ll just stay at my step dad’s house to keep out of your hair.
I’m REALLY sorry, but I’ve got a few holes in my suit. Once again, I’m FINE and you really don’t need to worry. I don’t want to trouble you, but I was wondering if there could be sleeves on it because it’s cold out now.
I hope you have a good Thanksgiving and you have fun visiting your parents. Eat lots of Turkey for me.
-Hunter
He tore out the note, got a piece of tape, and walked to her bedroom door. He opened it without a sound and taped the message to the inside of her door, then looked over at her for a minute, sleeping in bed. She looked so peaceful there, sleeping, without a care.
Slowly, he walked up next to her and bent over, kissing her cheek, then he left, right back out of the window, the note he left behind swaying in the breeze from the window.
-----
For the whole hour Hunter had been gone, Crane had sitting on the floor, his head resting on the cot, tears streaming down his face as he stared up at the ceiling. He was quiet completely quiet except for a few sniffles every few minutes, his tired brain slowly processing everything that had happened tonight, and filing it away in his brain. Near the end of the hour, he had stopped crying, just watching the ceiling, unnaturally still. Then, suddenly, he got up, his face eerily calm, and his movements precise and clipped.
He had made up his mind.
He was going to find Hunter, and convince him to stay with him, some way, somehow.
He strode over to the cabinet that housed his chemicals, reaching behind a group of beakers for a bland brown box with a tiny silver lock on the front. He closed the cabinet doors, then walked over to the fridge, opening the freezer door and taking out a tiny key, hidden on top of the ice maker. He unlocked the box and replaced the key, closing the freezer first before opening the box. Inside was large group of vials, all filled with an odd-looking green glass.
Fear toxin.
When the vials broke, and the toxin was exposed to air, it would turn into a gas. This toxin was one of his first; it wasn`t lethal, but it lasted a long time, but was, thankfully, one of the types that Crane was immune to. He took four vials (because you never know what you`ll meet out there on the streets), closed the box, and replaced it, so that it was invisible again. Then he was out the door, and into the dark Gotham night.
He arrived at the city faster than he had thought he would have. It had only taken a few minutes, but even those few minutes meant that Hunter was even farther away.
It was cold, colder than it had been earlier, but it still wasn`t anything his trenchcoat couldn`t block out. That, plus the fact that it was the middle of the night, meant that very few people were out, and they weren`t the type of people you`d want to meet in a dark alley. Still, he kept to the shadows, keeping out of sight, looking for anything that might have meant that Hunter had gone through.
He found it sooner than expected.
Two men, one moaning on the ground, the other propped up against the dumpster, were talking to each other, cursing and yelling rather loudly. The one on the ground seemed to have something very large and white sticking out of his arm, and was probably what he was complaining about. The other had scratches all over his arms. Bingo.
Unbeknownst to the Hornet, Crane had extra bullets in his coat-pocket. He fished out his mask and put it on, reloading his gun quickly and quietly while the two men complained and moaned.
Then he stepped out of the shadows, and their words quickly turned into screams.
After he got all the useful information he could out of the two men, he quickly disposed of them, leaving them with a scream in their throats and a bullet in their skulls. He would have like to do more, but he didn`t want to waste time on them, no matter what they had done to Hornet. At the moment, his priority was finding the boy, and he was going to stay true to that.
Scarecrow had expected it to be much harder to find out where the Hornet had gone; more skulking around, more killings, just more searching in general. But the one guy that hadn`t been knocked out when Hornet had left had given him some pretty good directions, in between the screams. That, and a faint trail of blood, on and off, lead him to an apartment complex`s fire escape. Again, it probably would have been harder to find had it not been for an open window, and a particularly helpful man. He knew the Hornet wouldn`t be happy if he ever found out, but he hadn`t really killed the man. He`d just be having some pretty nasty nightmares for a while.
He climbed easily up the fire escape, scaling it quietly as he reached the partly-opened window. He looked through the window first, not wanting to waste the last two vials he had left on an escape attempt. But it was dark, and from what he could tell, no one seemed to be awake. He climbed through it, his lanky body keeping him from getting stuck in the opening, and from making any noise when he landed on the ground. He was inside a bedroom; a woman was sleeping in a bed in the corner, facing away from him. He quietly walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway, quickly going through all of the rooms to see if Hornet was here, or if there was anybody else living with the woman. He didn`t find anybody, but in the bathroom sink he found a pile of bloody clothing, that proved to be the Hornet`s when he looked closer. So, he had been here, but wasn`t anymore. He walked back into the woman`s bedroom, going through different plans he had thought up that involved getting information out of her, but not leaving any lasting effects, when he saw the note taped to the back of the door.
It was from Hunter, being the same worrier he had been in the short time Crane had been with him. It also stated that he was going to his step-father`s house. He walked torwards the woman on the bed, his eyes on the note, instead of where he was going, when he ran into something (possibly a lamp), and it crashed onto the floor, making a large breaking noise. He froze, then looked at the woman, thankful that he didn`t have his mask on. She would obviously freak out, having a stranger in her house, but that would be better than having the Scarecrow in your house.
Hopefully she didn`t have a gun under her bed, or anything.
Hunter obviously cared for her (was that a twinge of jealousy he felt?), and he didn`t want to hurt her.
-----
Jenna had always been a deep sleeper, though sometimes she wished she wasn’t. She hated being totally oblivious to the world around her while she was unconscious, and having someone sneak into her house, someone other than Hornet, was the reason why. Her eyes opened quickly, her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering. There was someone in her room. The lamp had fallen over, and she knew it wasn’t Hornet. During the years he had stayed with her, he had not once dropped a plate, glass, or ran into anything, even when the lights were out.
She rolled onto her other side and sat up, only to be staring at someone, a stranger, right in front of her. The hall light from the doorway framed his lanky form, so she couldn’t see what he looked like. Still, she remained somewhat calm, thinking of any way she could get to the phone in the kitchen before he did anything to her.
“What do you want?” She asked, going for the ‘distract’ ploy. Her hands clenched the edge of the sheets tightly, her knuckles white.
-----
"Ma`am, please calm down." Crane said evenly, holding his hands up to show that he didn`t have anything in them, other than a harmless piece of paper. "I`m a friend of Hunter`s, and we had a fight tonight. He left, and I was worried about him, so I went to look for him. I`m not stealing anything, and I`m not here to hurt you, ma`am, so please don`t do anything rash." He sincerely hoped that she didn`t have a gun hidden somewhere, or a phone within reach. If she was able to get to the police, they, and Batman, could do more damage than she could ever do with a gun. So he had to keep her calm, at least enough so that she didn`t view him as a threat. Hopefully, it would be easy enough to do that.
-----
“Hunter’s friend?”
That caught her off guard. She almost didn’t believe him, except he used Hunter’s real name. Hunter would go out and hand out his name to random people. Still, she wished that he hadn’t barged into her house like that…
“If he’s not here, then he must be at his stepfather’s house,” She said at last, giving him a scared look. “He lives somewhere in the Bowery. Hunter doesn’t like being there… His Stepfather… A very cruel person. You’d better go fetch him. I told him not to go back there…”
Her voice wandered off, and she stared at the opposite wall. Her voice had been stressed, as if she wasn’t telling the full extent of how mean his stepfather was.
“Please be careful…”
++++++
From Jenna’s house, it took less than ten minutes running at full speed to get to his step dad’s house. He lumped a four foot fence into a back alley, then peered into a window. The lamp on the makeshift table was out, and his step-father’s sleeping form was sprawled out on the couch. Hunter could see empty beet cans and bottles scattered everywhere on top of the newspaper that served as carpeting.
He placed his palms on the window frame and pushed up. The window was stuck. So he applied a little more force, and it finally opened with a pop, then a squeak. Hunter froze in place, his eyes on his stepfather. He just rolled over so his wide back was facing him.
He carefully put one leg in and stepped down on the floor, only to recoil with a muffled yelp. He stuck his head in and looked down. There was a ply board on the floor with nails hammered into it. Thanks a lot, Henry. He kicked the plank away angrily and hauled himself through the window, then shut it behind him.
He made his way to the back room of the house without a sound, then shut the door to his room behind him. With a deep breath of hair, he looked around the room. Bottles and trashed were scattered everywhere. Apparently, his stepfather had been using it as a dump while he was gone. He moved the moldy newspapers and bottles off the limp mattress in the corner of the room and sat down on the edge, looking at the wall, with newspaper clippings with articles of the Batman tacked on the wall. His childhood hero.
The crash of bottles breaking and the rattle of beer cans over the floor brought his head back to the door, which swung open violently.
“Whaaat da HELL ah you doin’ back ‘eer BOY?!”
Hunter instantly scooted back until he was pinned in the corner.
His stepfather was a couple inches taller than him, and well built. Even though Hunter was surely stronger than him, the look of him looming in the doorway holding onto a metal baseball bat terrified him. And his words were slurred, which meant that he had been drinking recently again. A lot of drinking.
The man stumbled through the trash, swinging his bat, which was already dented out of shape from prior beatings, wildly.
“Well? Why did ya’ come back? You freak! Ya’ freak of nature!”
The bat came down hard, but Hunter forgot to take it and held up an arm. His arm stung and ached from where it was hit, but because he had blocked the blow, it just made him angrier. Hit after hit, the bat came down until Hunter was curled up in the corner, his back and side and arms and legs bruised and battered, but he still wouldn’t stop. This would go on for hours, until his stepfather had enough and left.
-----
Crane hesitated for a moment, thinking; what was with the tone the woman, Jenna, had used? What wasn`t she telling him about Hunter`s step-dad? He furrowed his eyebrows and frowned, then shook the thought off quickly, striding through the bedroom and shooting silently out the window and down the fire escape. Whatever that tone was, it said that there wasn`t anything good, and he needed to get to where Hunter was, and fast.
-----
The Bowery was a good thirty minutes away from Jenna`s apartment; there were no short-cuts or anything of the like to get there faster. All the Scarecrow had were his legs and his wits, and by using them both, he got there a good ten minutes earlier, and one vial shorter, than he had expected.
The Bowery was dark, almost pitch black; all of the street lights had either been stolen, shot, or had gone out, and the city could care less if that happened in a place like this. All around him was filth, trash, and bodies, either alive or dead, he couldn`t tell. He hadn`t thought to ask the Jenna-woman where Hunter`s step-father lived; a mistake on his part. Luckily, the street wasn`t that big, and, while going through an alley, he heard faint yelling coming from one of the houses. As he got closer, he also heard a faint rhythmic sound, like someone was hitting the side of the house. He paused, listening to it, and the yelling, before trying the window. It was either locked, or stuck, and he didn`t waste time getting it open; he smashed it with the back of his gun, effectively gaining access into the house. He climbed through it easily, only gaining a few scratches as he landed on the floor. He took a second to look around, noting the empty bottles of beer scattered around the floor, before he headed down a short hall, and into a room.
What he saw made him back up so fast that he fell over, dropping the gun a few inches away from him.
"--filthy piece of shit! You were born of a sin and have no right in this world! You`re a demon! A wicked demon that God will cast down into Hell--"
Crane choked back a sob, part of his brain screaming out in terror, telling him to run, run from the pain that was going to come, run from the words that hurt him more than the blows ever did. The other part was yelling at him to get up and kill whatever was hurting him, like he had done to his Grandmother, like he had done to so many countless others.
Johnathan got up, more than a little shaky, picked up the gun, walked back into the room, and pointed it at the man with the bat.
"Drop the bat," He said, sounding like he was going to cry."Or I`ll blow your brains out."
-----
Hunter no longer felt anything, even as blows still rained down on him. His body was numb, his brain was shutting down. He couldn’t think straight, let alone try to escape now. Why did he always have to aim for the head? It would all be over soon, he figured. He had to be getting tired, even in the drunk stupor he was in.
Suddenly, the bat stopped, an inch away from his face. Hunter risked the possibility of getting his teeth knocked out and glanced up at his step-father, who was looking over at the doorway. Hunter’s gaze followed and caught sight of someone in the door way. The person looked familiar, but his vision was too blurry to tell. But he didn’t need his vision because the person spoke. It was Crane.
He could tell, even though he really couldn’t make out the words either. It had just reached him, almost drowned out by the buzzing in his ears. All he knew is that it sounded like Scarecrow, and he was about the same height.
All at once, he was devoured by hundreds of emotions.
First, elation. He had actually come for him! Then, confusion. How did he find him? Had he tracked him the whole way? Anger, terror… Mostly terror now, because his stepfather turned towards Crane, huffing and snorting like an enraged Bull.
“Scarecrow… Run…”
He knew his voice didn’t even carry to him, because he had barely been able to wheeze it out in the first place.
His step-father seemed to size him up, some guttural laugh escaping from him. He obviously didn’t believe that Crane was there in the first place. He didn’t even think the gun was real, or maybe he was so drunk, he thought he could take him. Which he could, if Crane didn’t shoot him.
“One of ‘yer friends, maggot?” He asked, though he didn’t bother to looked down at Hunter when speaking. He was still staring at Crane like he was a defenseless lamb and his stepfather was a ravenous wolf. “I bet he’s just like you.”
And with that, he leapt foreword, his bat already over his head, ready to strike.
Hunter’s head suddenly cleared, and all he felt was an unparalleled rage that he had never felt before. If he touched Scarecrow, he’d kill him, he’d rip him limb from limb… He got to his feet, his legs shaking, though he was able to keep balance. All he wanted, all he though about, was having his stepfather’s blood on his claws, but he still didn’t move. He hadn’t hit him yet, not yet… Wait for it…
-----
Crane hated to admit it, but he was terrified. His hands were shaking, he couldn`t focus, and he felt like curling up into a ball and crying. He kept telling himself he wasn`t a child anymore, that this person couldn`t hurt him, because he had a gun, because he could kill him, but that didn`t help any. The only thing that kept him from breaking down right there was seeing Hunter, battered and bloody, lying on the floor. His gun was cocked; he knew he could just pull the trigger, and it would all be over, he and Hornet would be safe. But then the man lunged, and suddenly he had the face of his grandmother, coming to give him a beating for being the horrible sin of a boy that he was.
Crane let out a frightened shriek, firing a shot out wildly, and completely missing, before dropping it and falling to the floor again, covering his head with his arms. His mind couldn`t take it; it retreated into itself, and it made him believe he was just a little boy again, being punished for some reason he couldn`t understand.
"I`m sorry!" He shrieked, tears running down his cheeks. "I`m sorry! I didn`t mean to! I`m sorry, I`m sorry!"
-----
Something inside of Hunter snapped, and he leaped at his stepfather’s back, snarling. He wasn’t thinking straight, he wasn’t thinking at all, except for one word pulsing in his mind. “Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill…” He tackled him so hard that they both flew through the doorway into the living room, glass shattering. His claws were at the back of his next, tearing at his flesh, all the while his stepfather was screaming in pain. Hunter paused for a second, an uncertain look on his face, tilting his head. He really was just an animal now, killing just because he wanted to. He didn’t understand why his prey was making such a ruckus.
His stepfather rolled onto his back, sending Hunter onto his side, but he recovered with a growl and jumped back on top of him, his claws digging into his stomach. He brought his claws down like knives, but, mostly by pure luck, his stepfather had held the bat up horizontally, keeping his claws at bay inches from his face.
“What’re you doing? Get away from me! Get away!”
Hunter leaned down and laughed in his face.
“Now… How many times have I said THAT to you, you stupid, stupid man?”
His voice was almost at a hiss, and it was so thick with venom that his stepfather shut his mouth and just stared up at him, his eyes bulging out of his skull.
“I- I-”
Hunter’s face changed instantly from an almost mirthful one to infuriated, then yanked the bat out of the poor man’s hands and tossed it across the room. It hit the wall and bounced off with a hollow sound, then clattered to the floor.
“Shut up, demon. You don’t deserve to live.”
And then Hunter took his claws, and proceeded to carve his stepfather’s face. Then sliced open his neck, then started digging through his chest.
And finally, when Hunter was satisfied that his stepfather was gone, he sat back and started laughing. A very tortured, mournful laugh.
-----
Crane opened his eyes shakily, his mind not processing the screams coming from behind him. All he knew was that he wasn`t hurt; he was safe, no one was going to beat him, or yell at him. He picked himself up, looking around confusedly, until he spotted Hunter, doing something to another man. Whatever he was doing, it made everything very, very red, and the idea that the Hornet was doing something bad made it through the haze in Johnathan`s mind. He stumbled forwards a few steps, then stopped for a moment when he heard Hunter laugh. But, it sounded more like he was crying. Still not thinking anywhere near straight, Johnathan started crying, too, and picked his way over to the boy, trying his best not to step in the wet red stuff. He wanted Hunter to stop crying; he knew that was a bad, thing, too, and you`d get in trouble if you cried. He hugged Hunter around his waist, pressing his face into the other`s shoulder. He hummed a song, one that he couldn`t remember the words to, but it always calmed him down when he felt like crying. Maybe he could make Hunter stop crying, and everything would be better? That would be nice.
Hunter Greene Global Moderator [M:0] member is offline
No, no, no, you've got it wrong...
Joined: Aug 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 17 Karma: 0
Re: Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] « Reply #2 on Aug 17, 2008, 3:29pm »
Hunter jerked suddenly as he felt arms around his middle and another inhuman growl escaped his lips. His arms stretched out, one hand on the other’s shoulder, one on his wrist, before he settled down. He looked down at the head which had buried it’s face in his shoulder, unable to process who it was. His eyes were blurry again. He couldn’t see anything… and then he felt tears running down his face and he slumped over, drained. He breathed quietly for a moment, listening to Crane’s humming, then finally sat up straight.
“You shouldn‘t have come for me.” Hunter asked softly, now staring down at the corpse in front of him, unable to comprehend what he had just done, who that was. The body had no face. It was just a mass of blood and exposed muscle. His neck was almost severed. His chest had been completely cleaned out. Then realization kicked in.
“I killed him.” A simple statement. “Scarecrow… I killed him.”
He still really couldn’t believe it. All those times when he said to himself he wasn’t a monster, he wouldn’t hurt anyone, and he had just ravaged someone so much that they weren’t even recognizable.
His breath caught in his chest and he stood suddenly, not caring that Crane still had his arms around him. He just needed to get out of the room, out of the house, as far away as possible. He stumbled across the floor, then slipped out through the broken window, falling and rolling onto his side on the ground, then getting back to his feet and leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths. His stomach was twisted into knots.
What was he going to do? How could he look at himself again? Should he tell anyone about this?
I'm Hornet! But we just call him Bugboy. Self... Esteem... Diminishing... I didn't even know you had any of that. x.x;;
Jonathan Crane Co-Admin Master of Fright[M:0] member is offline
Works every time!
Joined: Aug 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 31 Location: Under yer bed :D Karma: 5
Re: Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] « Reply #3 on Aug 19, 2008, 6:07pm »
Crane flinched when he heard the growl, his instincts still working enough to know that noise was dangerous, but his mind, or whatever was left of it, sensing that he wasn`t in any danger. He looked up when Hunter started crying, still scared for both their sakes; what if Gramma came in and saw them crying? They`d both get a beating. He didn`t want a beating. Then Hunter talked, and, even though he still couldn`t really comprehend too much of what he was saying, it sounded sad. He followed Hunter`s gaze to the red man without a face, still getting the idea that what had happened was a bad thing. Why was it bad? He strained to follow the thought, his face scrunching a little bit, but then the thought vanished, and Hunter was getting up, looking distressed. He had said he had killed somebody. The man? But he was a bad man.
Gramma said bad men deserved to be killed.
Wasn`t that a good thing? He let go of Hunter, watching him walk torwards the broken window (had he broken that window? He couldn`t remember), then scrambling after him when he realized he was leaving. He didn`t want to be left here with the red man; he wanted to stay with Hunter. He leaned out the window, the pain of the glass poking through his skin not making it`s way through the fog in his mind. He watched Hunter, making sure he wasn`t about to go anywhere (why was he stumbling around like that?) before he climbed out the window, too.
He ended up flat on his back, and the pain of his head cracking against the ground did make it through his mind, and he started crying a little again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he sat up. That had hurt. Then he remembered what he was out here for, and he looked around wildly until he spotted Hunter, leaning against the fence, looking like he was going to cry.
"No, no, no." He said in a very child-like voice, waving his hand at the other boy while he tried to stop himself from crying, too. "Don`t cry, we`ll get in trouble. Stop crying." He picked himself up, went over to Hunter, and leaned against him, wiping his eyes. Then his foggy mind came up with another idea, and he looked at Hunter, suddenly scared. "You won`t leave me here, right?" He asked, sounding for all the world like a lost little boy. "I don`t wanna be left here. It`s scary here." At this idea, he felt like crying again, but forced it away, or at least as much as he could in his state.
Hunter Greene Global Moderator [M:0] member is offline
No, no, no, you've got it wrong...
Joined: Aug 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 17 Karma: 0
Re: Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] « Reply #4 on Aug 19, 2008, 6:24pm »
Hunter looked over at Crane, his head once again tilted to one side. Why was he acting like that? He was the one who killed people on a daily basis. This shouldn’t even be remotely disturbing to him, someone with no morals. His breath caught in his chest and for a moment he felt like pushing the man away, but instead wrapped a bloody arm around him and let out his breath slowly.
“No, I won’t leave you here. And… I’m not going to cry. I just need to go somewhere and think,” He said, taking in another deep breath and letting it out in a huff.
That’s what he needed to do, sit and think and just reason this all out. He should have time to do that, no one would come and find his stepfather’s body for a long time. At least a week, if not longer. He doubted that anyone even cared, or went to get help. He could actually get away with murder. He didn’t /want/ to get away with murder. He’d seek out Batman, or someone, and confess. He couldn’t handle knowing that he’d killed someone, no matter who it was….
He straightened his aching body, then climbed over the fence, his beaten muscles straining. Tomorrow he doubted that a single part of his body would be left unmarked. There would be bruises everywhere.
He held out a hand for Crane, then pulled it back, looking at his fingers. The tips had all broken off, either when his stepfather had been beating him, or when he had attacked him, he didn’t know. Hunter held out his hand again.
“Come on… We need some rest.”
He didn’t know exactly why he sounded so calm all of a sudden. Hadn’t he just killed someone? Why was he acting like nothing was wrong? He gave a gulp at the thought of not caring about ending someone’s life and instead focused on Crane.
The other seemed to be at his wit’s end, though he still didn’t know why. He was acting like a child, a scared, defenseless child. Hunter frowned, then decided that he, too, had things in his past he didn’t quite get over yet.
I'm Hornet! But we just call him Bugboy. Self... Esteem... Diminishing... I didn't even know you had any of that. x.x;;
Jonathan Crane Co-Admin Master of Fright[M:0] member is offline
Works every time!
Joined: Aug 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 31 Location: Under yer bed :D Karma: 5
Re: Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] « Reply #5 on Aug 19, 2008, 7:42pm »
"Oh." Crane said, relieved. That was good. He wasn`t going to be left here. He looked at the arm that was placed around him, not liking the weird smell that came off of it. What was that red stuff? He looked over at Hunter, about to ask him, but he cut his question off once he saw the look on the other`s face. It made Johnathan want to hug him; to hug him and not let go until the look on his face was gone.
Then Hunter was moving, and Crane clung to his shirt for a second before letting go, off balance. Where was he going? He backed up and watched the other boy scramble up the wall. He reached out to take his hand when it was offered, then flinched when it was taken away. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to leave after all? He watched Hunter worriedly until the hand was outstretched again. Relieved, he took it and scrambled over the wall, just barely keeping himself from falling this time. He wind-milled his arms, stumbled a bit, then grinned at Hunter proudly, as if saying 'I did it!'.
Crane straightened up, looked around, then focusing his attention back on Hunter. "Are we going to the lady`s house?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. "She was nice. But I don`t think she likes me much." He giggled a little bit, happy now that he was going somewhere with Hunter. He still couldn`t think very straight; he could remember the lady, but he couldn`t remember why he had met her, or why she didn`t like him. He tried, and failed, to follow the memory, but it just went up in smoke again, so he stopped trying to think, and instead focused on Hunter.
Hunter Greene Global Moderator [M:0] member is offline
No, no, no, you've got it wrong...
Joined: Aug 2008 Gender: Female Posts: 17 Karma: 0
Re: Autophobia [Mature Audiences Only :3] « Reply #6 on Sept 17, 2008, 4:26pm »
Hunter stared at Jonathan for a moment, wrapping his mind around the fact that he had been to Jenna’s home, had talked to her. Now he realized what a fool he had been getting involved this far with a clinically diagnosed lunatic. What had he been thinking? He /had/ killed a lot of people, and now the same person who liked literally scaring people to death he had let follow him home to the one person he cared about most. One thing was for sure, Crane was not ever going near Jenna’s house again, but he’d sort that out when he was in the right frame of mind. The way things looked, he was never going to let himself go back either.
“No… No we’re not going back to Jenna’s house,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going back to yours.” He then slid his arm around his shoulders and started walking with him. He was tired and his body ached like he had just been hit by a train. He could feel the blood on him hardening and making his clothes stiff and disgusting feeling.
Still… Jonathan had attempted to save him. He had followed him. Hunter just didn’t know why. Because he was his prey and that’s why he was feeling overprotective? Or because he actually did like him?
“Listen… Crane… “ He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “Why did you look for me? I told you if I ever saw you again… I mean… You shouldn’t have… You were almost… He…” Hunter fell silent again, staring at the ground as they walked. “You were almost really hurt… All because of me,” he finally said quietly. It would have been better if Crane had just stayed away, he knew. None of this wouldn’t have happened.
Ooc// Much better. xDDD Finally fixed it.
« Last Edit: Nov 29, 2008, 4:57pm by Hunter Greene »
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